Rebellious Business
by Lutralutra
Summary: After playing the obedient daughter for twenty-one years with no results, Sarada Uchiha decides to get revenge on her distant, workaholic father by dating the son of his worst enemy. This does not work out quite the way she imagined it would. AU, Boruto/Sarada with a side of father-daughter/son bonding.
1. Chapter 1

I've been out of the Naruto fandom for years, since even before the original series ended, but a recent bout of random curiosity made me return to find out what had happened to the characters, and I started getting into _Boruto: Naruto Next Generations._ I'm especially loving the family bonding scenes and the adorable flames of youth that are Boruto and Sarada (with honourable mentions to Mitsuki, whom I also love). Do I ship it? You bet I do! This fic was born out of a desire for some BoruSara, as well as an interest in exploring the Sarada/Sasuke and Boruto/Naruto conflicts. The modern AU setting has forced me to change the details a bit, but I've tried to stay true to the spirit of the relationships. That said, I would totally appreciate any constructive criticism from anyone who feels I'm getting into OOC territory. To be honest, I'm kind of nervous about posting this because I'm not even up to date on all of Boruto, so I'm a little worried that I may just have made everyone OOC, but I was too excited about this little story to wait until I was caught up.

Just a note for anyone who is questioning the fact that my story summary painted Sasuke and Naruto as worst enemies: don't worry too much! Keep in mind that a) we're mostly getting the perspectives of Sarada and Boruto, who are total outsiders to that relationship, and b) there's room for development in the Sasuke/Naruto bond as well, which is also one I intend to give some attention to in this story. That's another relationship that's always been a favourite of mine, so I have no intention of making them fight to the death or anything like that, haha.

Disclaimer: Do I own any part of the Naruto or Boruto series? You bet I don't!

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Sarada Uchiha stared glumly at the elegantly framed certificate singling her out as the student with the highest GPA in her year, feeling bitter and defeated. The walls of her bedroom were decorated with a number of similar awards, but she wasn't even going to bother putting this one up. In fact, maybe she'd take down all the others. They had all proven to be useless to her, anyway.

It wasn't that she didn't value good grades or take pride in her ability to achieve them—she did. But she recognized that, practically, there was no real _need_ to be at the top of the class every single time for every single assignment. No need, that is, unless you were trying to impress your father. Your father who happened to be Sasuke Uchiha: wealthy and powerful head of the Uchiha Corporation, brilliant and cutthroat businessman, notoriously intimidating, and officially impossible to impress.

After twenty-one years, it was time for her to face it: her strategy of being the perfect daughter to earn her illustrious father's attention and respect had failed spectacularly, possibly even backfired. After all her academic awards, extracurricular achievements, and filial submissiveness, he was as distant as ever: still going on long business trips that meant she didn't see or hear from him for months at a time, still cold and untalkative on the occasions when she did see him, still limiting himself to rare, stilted words of praise that were usually painstakingly coaxed out of him by blatantly leading questions from Sarada's mother. No degree of perfection was perfect enough for Sasuke Uchiha, apparently.

Either that, or he had simply gotten so used to her doing whatever he wanted regardless of how he treated her that he saw no reason to provide her with any sort of acknowledgment. In fact it was this latter explanation that she was banking on, because despite everything, she wasn't quite ready to give up entirely. Even if she wasn't the ideal Uchiha her father wanted, she was still definitely an Uchiha, and Uchihas weren't quitters. No—what she needed was a new approach.

So far, she had logically settled on this: if being perfect and obedient wasn't working, then maybe it was time to be _im_ perfect and _dis_ obedient.

The question was, how? Rebellion didn't exactly come naturally after so many years of deference. And eager as she was to show her father that he couldn't expect blind obedience from her while offering nothing in return, she wasn't going to be completely irresponsible about it; she had no desire to do anything extreme enough to potentially negatively affect her life in the long term, such as flunk out of university or commit a crime. Nor did she plan to be juvenile and frankly _embarrassing_ about it, either. She thought disdainfully of someone like Boruto Uzumaki, her long-time classmate who had spent much of his time in middle and high school pulling stupid pranks in a pathetically obvious bid for his own father's attention. _She_ had always been above that sort of thing.

Then she straightened suddenly, adjusting her glasses on her face as she often did when she was thinking hard about something. Boruto Uzumaki. There could be some possibilities there…

Scooting over to her laptop where it sat on her desk, she typed in Boruto's name on Facebook. They weren't friends, but his page was largely public, so she could still see a number of photographs featuring familiar spiky blond hair and bright blue eyes. His current profile pic showed him grinning broadly next to a young man with unusual golden eyes and tousled whitish-blue hair—probably a new friend from college, since she didn't recognize him from their high school class.

What she didn't see as she skimmed through Boruto's albums were any photos of his father. Naruto Uzumaki headed the Hokage Corporation and was as famous and successful in the business world as Sasuke Uchiha, though she knew her father would be loath to admit it, thanks to the decades-long rivalry that had developed between the two of them back when they'd been students together. The fact that as working adults they now competed for many of the same deals, partnerships, and target markets had only intensified their antagonism over the years. Their hostility toward each other was by now so legendary, and somehow accepted, that they rarely even bothered to pretend to be civil to each other in public anymore. As a result, it had always been a kind of unspoken rule for Sarada that she was not to associate with Boruto, Naruto's son, even though they'd been in the same class for years.

Although she had accordingly avoided Boruto without complaint—not too difficult to do, as she'd found his immaturity, pettiness, and plain old _loudness_ less than appealing—Sarada had always a felt a secret kinship of sorts with him, suspecting from his behaviour that they shared similar paternal conflicts. As a child and teen, Boruto had made no secret of the fact that he strongly resented his father (and to Sarada, who had some experience in these matters, it had been equally obvious that he desperately sought some kind of acknowledgment from him); hence the stupid pranks and his various other reckless misadventures. He had even clearly disliked being told how much he looked like his father, even though the striking resemblance was undeniable.

Now, she wondered if that evidently rocky relationship had improved at all in the three years since he'd come to university. Because if it hadn't, there was a chance Boruto Uzumaki might make an effective ally, and she was willing to set aside the Uchiha/Uzumaki feud in the name of a greater cause. Besides, it was her father's feud, and she was all about disobedience now.

Of course, a public Facebook profile was hardly going to give her all the information she needed to see if this was feasible. She didn't want to contact Boruto directly right away; it seemed a little crude somehow, and would be deeply humiliating if her assumptions turned out to be wrong. The thought of Boruto Uzumaki of all people laughing in her face left a sour taste in her mouth. But she wasn't the daughter of a brilliant business tactician for nothing. She'd subtly scope out the territory first, and go in for the kill only once she'd confirmed he was vulnerable.

Facebook was a good jumping-off point, at least. She focused on the golden-eyed guy who appeared more often than anyone else in Boruto's most recent photos—no doubt a close friend, possibly a roommate, and exactly the kind of in she needed. _Mitsuki_ was his name, apparently, and his own page revealed him to be a biology student. Not much to go on just yet, but it was a start.

She unceremoniously dropped her highest GPA award in a desk drawer and closed it, done with lamenting failed strategies. If there anything she'd learned from her father—by example, not by personal teaching, because it wasn't like he'd ever taken the time to show her anything himself—it was that to get what you wanted, you had to be smart, persistent, and when necessary, devious.

Now he was going to find out just how much she'd taken that lesson to heart.

* * *

Sarada felt somehow vindicated when the mysterious Mitsuki turned out to be a surprisingly easy target, as if it were a sign that fate was on her side.

The initial clue about his studies in biology had led to the discovery that he worked as a research assistant in the laboratory of Professor Orochimaru, a senior biology prof at Konoha University who was well-known, and a figure of some controversy, for his cutting-edge medical experiments that tested the limits of the human body. Sarada knew vaguely of his work because he had at one point approached the Uchiha Corporation about a potential business deal involving some technology he was developing, but the talks had ultimately fallen through. Although some in the scientific community questioned his ethics, Orochimaru was still a highly regarded researcher and his lab held considerable prestige; this Mitsuki had to be a bright student in order to have earned a position there. The kind of student who would go to his professor's office hours, even during the summer.

So, after looking up Orochimaru's office hours online, Sarada made sure to casually amble by the door at the right time, backpack slung over her shoulders so she looked like any other university student. She wandered patiently up and down the hallway just around the corner while keeping an eye on who was coming and going from the office.

When she had the good fortune to spot a familiar figure with bluish-white hair slip out, laptop tucked under his arm, she waited for him to turn the corner and darted smoothly up to him. "Hi."

"Hello," he replied affably, turning to her with a close-lipped smile. His manner was friendly enough, but something about him immediately put her on guard; maybe it was just their unusual colour, but his golden eyes seemed to gleam at her in a way that suggested he was both closely analyzing her and laughing at her.

She didn't let that throw off her own amiable act, however. "I noticed you just came out of Professor Orochimaru's office," she commented.

"Yes," he agreed pleasantly, but went no further than that. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ears, but his eyes didn't stray from hers to follow the movement. That was a bit of a relief; she'd been wondering if she should try flirting, but she could tell immediately that he wasn't the kind of guy that would work on. She was no good at it anyway.

"If you're a student of his, I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about him and his work," she said.

"You're a biology student?" His expression remained politely blank.

"Business," she corrected him; he'd know in a minute that she wasn't a bio major from her lack of knowledge, "but I'm interested in biology too. These days, the future of business lies in science, and vice versa."

"I see," he said, not sounding particularly interested, but to her surprise, he then continued the conversation himself. "My roommate is in the business program. I don't suppose you would happen to know him—Boruto Uzumaki?"

She couldn't believe her ears. Here he'd brought up the subject on his own, within two minutes of meeting her, without her having to wrestle anything out of him. "Boruto? Yes, kind of," she admitted, trying to hide her eagerness. "We might have had a class or two together. And we went to the same high school."

"Oh, really?" He perked up a little. "Who are you?"

"Sarada Uchiha."

"I've heard of you," he said thoughtfully. "You're very smart, apparently."

She resented that "apparently" a little—was he insinuating that he thought her intelligence was just a rumour?—but she forged on, not to be deterred from her goal. "Well, thank you. Anyway, about Orochimaru—"

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to talk about Boruto?" he interrupted her, still sounding perfectly serene.

That stopped her dead in her tracks. She hadn't told anyone about her plan! Had he literally _read her mind_? Was Orochimaru experimenting on his own students now, turning them into psychics?

"I don't mean to offend you," he went on smoothly, "it's just that this happens quite often."

"What does?" she asked, honestly confused.

"Women approach me to ask about Boruto," he replied. When she continued to stare at him, obviously not getting it, he clarified, "Because they're in love with him."

 _What the hell!?_ "I am _not_ in love with Boruto," she exclaimed hotly, immediately abandoning all pretense of friendliness.

"I see," he said again, sounding no more interested than he'd been the first time he'd used the phrase. "In that case, goodbye."

With that, he gave her another smile, identical to the one he'd greeted her with, and kept on walking.

She was stunned by the sudden strange turn this conversation had taken, but not stunned enough to give up. "Mitsuki! Wait."

He turned around willingly enough. "You already know my name," he observed. "You must have done your research." Yes, she certainly had, but not for the reasons he thought!

In a desperate snap judgment, she decided to discard all subterfuge. Much as she disliked the idea of Boruto's roommate reporting back to him that Sarada Uchiha's daddy issues had risen to a level where she was asking for _his_ help (she'd always planned on telling Boruto the truth from the start, but she didn't exactly want his entire social circle to know), it was a heck of a lot better than Boruto's roommate reporting back to him that Sarada Uchiha was _in love with him._ She still had _some_ dignity.

"Listen." Hands on her hips, she marched up to Mitsuki with the steely, authoritative expression that told people she would _make_ them understand whether they wanted to or not. He blinked down at her, looking genuinely startled for the first time. "I _am_ interested in Boruto, but it has nothing to do with _love._ "

"Then why?"

She sighed, really wishing the discussion hadn't come to this point. She still maintained that approaching Mitsuki first had been a good strategy; it was her execution that obviously needed work. "It's a long story."

It actually wasn't _that_ long a story, at least not the heavily abridged version she gave him while cornering him against the wall of the biology department hallway so he couldn't leave until she was sure he believed her. And he listened very attentively, his slightly hypnotic eyes closing every minute or so and then reopening slowly, as if to carefully absorb what he was hearing. Well, either that or he was falling asleep listening to her; he wasn't exactly easy to read.

"...and that's why I just need some basic information from you, about his relationship status and such, to find out whether Boruto would be a good candidate for this," she finally finished, oddly relieved now that it was out in the open. Deceit didn't really suit her.

"In essence, you want to use my friend for your petty revenge," he summarized. Somehow, the way he said it so matter-of-factly—there was no judgmental inflection in his voice—made it seem all the more condemnatory.

She bristled at the derogatory description—after twenty-one years of doing what she was told, this rebellion was _not_ petty—but she wasn't going to get into the emotional details with this guy, and she couldn't exactly deny it. "Well," she said through clenched teeth, "in _essence,_ yes."

For a minute he just looked at her with that sly golden gaze, face totally unreadable, and she resisted the urge to squirm. (Uchihas did _not_ squirm.) Was he gearing up to ream her out for trying to drag his friend into her family drama? So far he seemed like the laid-back, calm type, but those ones were always the scariest when they snapped...

Then he suddenly smiled, eyes crinkling. Unlike his previous smiles, she thought this one might actually be sincere.

"How interesting. I think you and Boruto would make a good couple," he said brightly. "I'll help. What do you want to know?"

* * *

To tell the truth, Boruto had always had a certain curiosity about the sole Uchiha heiress, although he had never thought it worth the trouble to pursue, given what was sure to be an explosively negative reaction from his father and the fact that she herself seemed unlikely to welcome any friendly overtures. She had an untouchable air to her, with her uptight and assertive demeanour, her academic prowess, and of course her status as the daughter of a very powerful man. Perhaps she wasn't quite as intimidating as her cutthroat businessman of a father, but she had a strong presence nonetheless.

It was a little exhilarating, he had to admit, to have all that fierce attention focused on him, her piercing black eyes fixed on him and nothing else behind those distinctive red-rimmed glasses.

Maybe that was why he was still here listening to her proposition, instead of running the other way like any sane person should have.

He'd received a rather cryptic text from his roommate earlier that afternoon, asking him to meet later at a small, uncrowded cafe near campus. When he'd shown up and taken a seat at a table for two, however, he'd been joined a couple of minutes later not by Mitsuki but by Sarada Uchiha. She'd settled gracefully onto the opposite seat and given him a curt hello, to which he had somewhat rudely replied, "Sarada? Uh, I'm kind of waiting for someone, so…"

She had proceeded to inform him in a businesslike manner that he'd actually been waiting for _her,_ which made no sense, and had then launched into a positively surreal speech about his dad, her dad, and dating, giving him no opportunity for interruptions. He'd had to pinch himself several times under the table to make sure he wasn't asleep and dreaming.

When she was finally through, he only had about a million questions. He wasn't sure where to start. For that matter, he wasn't even sure this person was really Sarada Uchiha and not some lunatic impostor somehow wearing her face and voice. Not that he claimed to know her well, but based on what he did know, this was totally out of character for her.

"So, what you're saying is," he summed up incredulously, "you think we should start _dating_ just to piss off our dads."

"Correct," she said crisply. "It's a solid setup. We're both single so we have no other commitments, it's summer so we have time to spend going on dates, we both have reason to want to get back at our fathers, and said fathers conveniently despise each other, which means any relationship between us is sure to upset them."

He stared at her. "Okay, first of all, what makes you so sure I'm single, and why would you think I would want to actively piss off my dad?"

"I did my research," she said simply. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she specified, "I talked to your roommate."

" _Mitsuki_?" He tried to picture how a conversation between prim Sarada and his eccentric roommate, on the subject of _him,_ would go. His imagination drew a blank. "When? What did he say?"

"A few days ago. He just answered my basic questions on the current state of your life and relationships. Among other things, he confirmed that you're single with no current objects of romantic interest, and that you've resented your father for years for prioritizing work over his family and hypocritically criticizing you for doing the same kinds of things he did when he was younger. And he agreed to help me set this up."

Right—he suddenly remembered that he'd been supposed to meet Mitsuki here, a fact that his shock had temporarily pushed out of his mind. Well, that explained that. But not why Mitsuki, who wasn't even a particularly talkative person normally, would discuss Boruto's personal life with _Sarada Uchiha_ of all people.

" _Why_ would he do any of this?" Note to self: start watching what you say around your roommate. The guy obviously listened carefully and was apparently willing to share what he heard with anyone who asked.

"I have no idea," she admitted readily, "but he volunteered it all quite willingly, once I told him what my goal was. He did seem a bit...strange. Maybe you should rethink your choice of roommates."

"Hey, Mitsuki's my friend," Boruto protested, instinctively defending him despite not being too thrilled with him either at the moment.

She shrugged in easy acceptance. "The company you keep is your business. I can assure you that as your girlfriend, I won't try to interfere in your private affairs."

"Uh, isn't 'interfering in each other's private affairs' kind of the definition of dating?"

"I suppose, if you're genuinely interested in the person," she allowed. "But for us, it would be a business arrangement. The whole point of this is that I'm not interested in you for _you._ I'm interested in you for who your father is."

That actually kind of stung, even though she'd been clear about it from the start. It wasn't the first time someone had approached him just because he was Naruto Uzumaki's son. At least she was totally upfront about it.

Boruto pictured what his old man's face would look like if he found out his son was dating Sarada Uchiha. Okay, he could see where she was coming from; that might be kind of satisfying. Then he pictured what Sasuke Uchiha's face would look like if he found out his daughter was dating Boruto Uzumaki. That seemed like it might be less satisfying; there was a distinct possibility the guy might actually have him assassinated.

"It would be very low-demand and low-risk," Sarada was saying matter-of-factly. "All we'd have to do is go out in public together every now and then so the news of our relationship gets back to our parents."

"Low-risk?" Boruto echoed doubtfully. "No offense, but have you met your father? He's literally famous for being scary."

His cowardice earned him a look of cutting disdain. "What do you think he's going to do, have you assassinated?"

"I don't know, is that something he's done to your boyfriends in the past?" he shot back, only half-jokingly.

She sighed and pursed her lips. "Look, I can't force you to cooperate. If you're so against it, you don't have to do it, obviously. But if you're at all interested in getting your dad's attention to show him once and for all that you're not going to live your life by his rules, then you're passing up a great opportunity."

She rested her folded hands on the table in front of her and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his final answer.

He considered it, considered her. He'd never been close to Sarada, but after having gone to school with her for most of his life, he'd seen enough of her to know that, unlike him, she didn't do anything recklessly. When she took a risk, it was because she'd examined it from all angles, eliminated all other possibilities, and decided it was one hundred percent worth it, no regrets. So if Sarada Uchiha thought this crazy, very un-Sarada-Uchiha-like plan could succeed...well, she probably knew better than he did, not that he'd ever admit that to her.

He took a deep breath. "Fine, I'm in."

An approving spark in her gaze, she held out her hand to shake. He took it, finding her grip strong and self-assured.

"So, what should I call you?" he asked casually. At her quizzical look, he suggested, "Babycakes? Snookums? Honeybunch? _Snugglemuffin?"_

When those keen eyes of hers narrowed in a glare, he leaned back in his seat and grinned.

This might actually turn out to be pretty fun.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope I managed to retain your interest through all the exposition. Please let me know how you think I did with the characterization, the modernization, and everything else!

Also: I feel I should warn you that I have a pretty bad track record with finishing multi-chapter stories. But, I already have quite a few future scenes written out, and I don't plan to make this fic hugely long and ambitious, so I have high hopes for this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! In honour of Valentine's Day, here's the next chapter, in which the BoruSara action starts to take off.

By the way, if you find that I'm being suspiciously vague about the exact nature of Sasuke's and Naruto's businesses, you're exactly right, and you probably shouldn't expect that to change much. I'll be honest, this is just because I have very little idea of how the corporate world really works and what big-shot businessmen really do. Fortunately, such specifics aren't particularly important to this silly little plot, nice as they would be to include if I had time to do the research.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

"Boruto," Sarada said slowly, "are you aware that there's a snake on your couch?"

After they'd shaken on their new partnership at the cafe, and she had firmly disabused Boruto of the notion that he was allowed to call her by any revolting pet names, she had insisted that they go somewhere private to discuss the actual steps of their plan of attack. She would have been willing to offer her apartment, but Boruto's place was just off campus and closer, a few minutes away by foot, so she'd consented to follow him there instead. He'd let her in his apartment ahead of him and she'd taken advantage of the head start to peer into his living room, only to be confronted by the sight of a snake that had to be at least three feet long and the thickness of her wrist, coiled up and resting on the sofa as if it belonged there.

"Oh, oops, I forgot to warn you. Mitsuki keeps snakes, and he generally lets them roam the apartment freely," came her host's call from the hallway. "I can move it to the cage in his room, if it bothers you. But it's harmless. Well, not totally harmless, but very well-trained. It won't bite unless you attack it or something."

"I see." Although she had her doubts about the wisdom of letting big snakes—more than one, apparently; were there others slithering around in here?—roam freely, she had to admit this one was actually quite beautiful; it had creamy white scales and gleaming golden eyes (eerily reminiscent of Mitsuki's, in fact). As she stared at it, it slowly uncoiled and slithered off the sofa toward her, and then began to wind itself loosely around her left foot. Uneasy about this development, but figuring it was safest just to let the creature explore if what Boruto had said was true, she stood still.

"Whoa," Boruto said, coming up behind her. "Do you like snakes? It obviously likes you."

"Not especially."

"But you're not afraid of them," he observed, watching the snake caress her leg. It remained coiled around her ankle for a few seconds before unlooping itself and slithering into another room, probably Mitsuki's, through a door left slightly ajar as if for that purpose.

"I'm an Uchiha," she said haughtily, hiding her relief that it was gone. "Uchihas are not afraid of snakes _._ "

"...Right. Whatever. It's just, most people I have over are at least a bit freaked out by them. Like my ex-girlfriend—I think she found visiting me here kind of traumatic. To be honest, it was probably a contributing factor in our breakup."

"Are you talking about Sumire?" Meek, tenderhearted Sumire Kakei had been their classmate in high school, and actually a fairly good friend of Sarada's at the time, although they had drifted apart after graduation. Sumire had liked Boruto for almost as long as Sarada had known her, and he'd finally asked her out in senior year. Early last year Sarada had heard through the grapevine that they'd parted ways. Beyond feeling a little sorry for Sumire, and instinctively attributing the breakup to Boruto's stupidity since it seemed unlikely that he'd ever find a kinder, more devoted woman who was willing to put up with his shenanigans, she hadn't dwelled on it much.

"Uh, yeah." He looked surprised that she'd remembered. She didn't know why he would be; surely he wasn't so oblivious that he hadn't noticed that his pairing-off with Sumire had been the talk of the class for months.

"Then you broke up with Sumire because she was afraid of your roommate's snakes?" Sarada was no expert on relationships, but that didn't really seem like an adequate reason to end one.

"Hey, that wasn't the _main_ reason," he protested.

"What was it then?" she asked, justifying her question with, "We have to make this look real. As your current girlfriend, I have a right to know these things, don't I? "

He gave her a considering look, then shrugged. "Fine, whatever. I dunno, I just always felt like she liked me more than I liked her, which made me feel bad, because it was like I was leading her on or something. She seemed to want something more serious and I didn't, so I figured it would be less painful to end it sooner rather than later."

She nodded, accepting that. She _had_ wondered what had happened to drive Sumire away from the guy of her dreams, since she couldn't imagine the sweet young woman as anything but an ideal girlfriend. But that explanation actually made sense. Sumire's adoration of Boruto had practically verged on hero-worship at times, and she could see how the intensity of those feelings could be uncomfortable for their object.

"You won't have to worry about that with me."

"Worry about what?" he said, confused.

"Me liking you more than you like me," she specified. "Believe me, I don't and never will."

"Well, that's a weight off my mind," he snarled sarcastically. She smirked at his offended expression. It was kind of fun to rile this guy up. Sumire had been missing out if she'd always been _nice_ to him in their relationship.

But anyway, they had business to take care of. She glanced around for a suitable place to sit and make plans. There was the recently vacated couch, but that felt too casual (not to mention she was a little antsy about the possibility that there might be other snakes curled up behind the cushions or something), so she opted for the dining table in front of the kitchen doorway.

"You know what's happening in one month, right?" she asked without preamble, once they'd both grabbed chairs.

Boruto was at a loss. "Well, it's mid-May now, so, uh...the official beginning of summer?"

She heroically resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I mean the annual Konoha Business Awards Gala."

He instantly grimaced. "Aw man, did you have to remind me?"

The Konoha Business Awards Gala was a large formal gathering that took place every summer to recognize the achievements and innovations of local enterprises. As perhaps the two most successful Konoha-based companies in history, both the Uchiha and Hokage Corporations always got a handful of nominations, which meant that both Sasuke Uchiha and Naruto Uzumaki always attended, and their families as well. Sarada could admit she found it rather tedious, but she still dutifully accompanied her parents every year. Boruto, on the other hand, had been making up excuses to skip it for over a decade, with limited success. Nothing was more painfully boring for him than listening to people give speeches in praise of his father's work.

Sarada ignored his whining. "The Gala is what we should be building up to. It's probably the only time we'll ever be in a public setting with both of our fathers present, so it's our best chance to make a statement."

"Make a statement how, exactly?" Boruto had sudden unbidden visions of stripping naked in a ballroom in front of dozens of people and getting it on with Sarada right there. The idea was truly horrifying (yet perhaps a tiny bit thrilling).

Some of that thought process must have somehow shown on his face, because Sarada snapped, "I don't know what exactly it is you're thinking, nor do I _want_ to know, but whatever it is it's definitely wrong, so stop it now."

He gave himself away by reddening lightly and looking down, and she muttered under her breath, "Perv."

Insulted, he accused in return, "Hey, _you're_ the one who's trying to stick it to Daddy by making him think his little girl might be giving it up to Naruto Uzumaki's kid. Don't go acting like you're all innocent!"

"Let me make one thing clear, Boruto." Sarada's glare was as freezing and deadly as her voice, and she gripped the edge of the table as if she were about to haul herself up and walk out. "I'm not taking any shit from you. If you think this arrangement gives you license to disrespect me, or some kind of right to my body, I'm ending things right now."

He looked startled and abashed at her forceful reaction (and was somewhat shocked into submission by the fact that he'd gotten Sarada Uchiha to say "shit"). "Yeah, I get it. I'm not like that. You know I wouldn't...I didn't mean to...I don't think that."

She relaxed slowly. She didn't really think Boruto was that kind of guy, but it never hurt to set ground rules. "Good." She fixed her glare on him for a few more moments before letting it fade, just to make sure the point sank in. "Anyway, what I mean is, we have a month to ease into this dating business—get ourselves seen by the right people, get the rumours started, perfect our act. By the time the Gala comes around, our dads will have reason to be suspicious. So that's the night we publicly show them beyond a doubt that there _is_ something between us, and that it's serious."

"But that means I'd have to actually _go_ to the Gala this year," Boruto groaned.

"Yes, obviously. But keep in mind that given what we have planned for it, I don't think it'll end up being quite as boring as it has been in the past." A devious little smile slipped out before she could help it.

Those words and that smile unfortunately brought rushing back to mind the earlier image of getting hot and heavy with Sarada in front of all of Konoha's business community, but he summoned all his self-control and forced it away, managing a small grin in return. "Right. Okay, I'm with you there."

"That's settled then." She nodded briskly. "Now, first things first: our first date. Where do you think we should go?"

A little taken aback—it was the first time the undeniably bossy Uchiha had actually asked for his input instead of just laying down the law—Boruto thought it over. "We want somewhere where people will see us, right? People who will hopefully get the word back to our parents."

"Exactly. You're getting it, finally."

He ignored her condescending air as a spark of genius came to him. "I know—Ichiraku's! It's a decent ramen place downtown. My dad goes there a lot. He's practically best friends with the owner and most of the staff by now, and they know my face too. If they see me there with you, my dad will definitely hear about it."

Sarada considered it. It seemed like it would get the ball rolling on Naruto's side more than on her own father's, but it wasn't a bad suggestion. And she supposed she could be gracious enough to let the first move be more advantageous for Boruto. He had agreed to help her out, after all.

"All right. Tuesday night, 7 pm?"

"Sure, why not." He looked pleased that she had accepted his suggestion so easily, and they exchanged cell numbers. Sarada felt rather satisfied too; her plan was officially underway.

She eyed him critically from across the table, taking in his black and red sweatshirt, unzipped over a wrinkled white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and baggy black sweatpants. It was a Saturday, and she knew he'd thought he was just having a casual meetup with his roommate at a nearby cafe, but still...

"Make an effort for our date, would you?" she said pointedly. "Try to look like you actually want to make a good impression on me."

He looked down at himself. "Hey! Are you implying something about my fashion sense?"

"Yes. I'm implying that it's not exactly going to impress women," she said bluntly. Then she remembered what Mitsuki had said about girls practically lining up to date Boruto, difficult as she found it to believe. "Or at least it's not going to impress _me_ ," she amended, "and I'm the only woman you need to care about right now."

"I thought you said you weren't going to interfere in my private affairs? My choice of clothing counts, you know!"

The argument would no doubt have continued if Mitsuki hadn't chosen that moment to arrive home, the slamming of the door drawing their attention away from each other as he joined them in the living room.

"Sarada, Boruto," he greeted them with a smile, looking utterly unsurprised to find them there together. "Don't let me disturb you."

He made as if to go into his own room, but Boruto stopped him with an irate, " _Mitsuki._ Don't even think about hiding in your room with your little snake buddies. I want an explanation!"

"About what?" Mitsuki asked, the picture of innocence.

"About _why_ you would tell _her_ about my personal problems!" Boruto gestured wildly at Sarada, who scowled at his rudeness.

Mitsuki cocked his head, looking vaguely puzzled. "You didn't agree to her proposal, then? But then why would you invite her back to our apartment?"

"It's not that I didn't agree," Boruto growled. "But that doesn't change the question!"

"I thought you'd come around." Mitsuki seemed pleased. "I found her style quite convincing, even if it lacked some finesse." That earned him a quick scowl of his own from Sarada.

While Boruto spluttered in outrage, she sighed exasperatedly. "Well, I think my business is done here, so I'm going to head out. I don't have time to waste watching you two work out your issues."

She rose to let herself out, but Boruto barely noticed, distracted by his irritation at his roommate. His loud voice carried out into the hallway. "Seriously, Mitsuki, what the hell! I thought we were friends. _Why_ would you help her get me involved in this crazy plan?!"

"It's just like I told Sarada. I thought you two would make a good couple."

"You told her WHAT?!"

* * *

As planned, Sarada waited for Boruto just outside Ichiraku Ramen that Tuesday night. She had opted for a simple red summer dress under a black denim jacket as her first date outfit, and she was hoping Boruto would take her advice to heart and wear something of equal quality. Well, actually at this point she was just hoping he'd show up, as it was verging on 7:10 and he had yet to arrive. Was this what Sumire had had to put up with all the time? And _he_ had the nerve to break up with _her_?

Finally, there he was, half-jogging down the sidewalk toward her. She was gratified to see that he'd worn black jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt, an acceptable level of formality. But that didn't negate his tardiness, so she still glared at him and snapped as he approached, "Late for the first date. This relationship is off to a great start."

"Jeez, sorry," he mumbled back insincerely, not bothering with an excuse. "Chill, it's like, what, five minutes past?"

" _Ten._ Let's just get this over with." She followed him into the restaurant, taking a few deep breaths to settle her temper. There was one flaw in her plan she hadn't really considered, she realized: the possibility that she and Boruto wouldn't be able to convince anyone they actually liked each other, much less were a couple. But no, she reassured herself; she could control herself better than that, even if he couldn't. She'd pull it off.

As he'd promised, the staff recognized Boruto immediately and greeted him enthusiastically. "Boruto, it's been a while!" the grandfatherly older man behind the counter boomed jovially, while a younger waitress waved at them cheerfully. "You look more and more like your father every time you come in."

Sarada noticed Boruto stiffen next to her at the comment, but he still grinned and replied, "Hey, Teuchi, Ayame! Good to see you."

"And who's this lovely young lady you brought with you?" Teuchi asked, smiling at Sarada.

She stepped forward and held out her hand to shake. "Sarada Uchiha. It's nice to meet you."

He took it with an expression of surprise that quickly melted back into pleasure. "Sasuke Uchiha's daughter, of course! You look quite a bit like your father too. I haven't seen him in here in years. Isn't it nice to see the next generation getting along so well!"

She blinked, startled. It wasn't that unusual for strangers to guess that she was Sasuke's daughter when they heard her last name, but this man made it sound like her father used to come here—the same place his public enemy number one Naruto Uzumaki liked so much. The cozy ramen joint didn't really seem like her father's style. Well, whatever. If her dad also had ties to this place, so much the better for her plan.

They took a seat at a fairly central table—somewhere they would be easily noticed—and ordered their meals. Sarada suddenly noticed what was on the wall behind Boruto: a large photograph of a grinning Naruto Uzumaki digging into a heaping bowl of ramen, several emptied bowls piled up beside him, with the headline "Local Business Giant Loves Ichiraku Ramen." Boruto twisted to see what she was looking at and then dropped his head into his hands with a little groan of embarrassment.

"Yeah, my dad really, really, _really_ likes this place," he muttered. "It's an obsession. Not that it's not good ramen, but seriously, he has a problem. The first time he brought me here, I thought he was going to disown me if I didn't say I liked it. Either that or start crying, which would have been worse."

Sarada smiled a little, amused, but also felt a pang of wistfulness. She had no idea what her father's favourite restaurant was, and she could almost count on one hand the number of times he'd taken her out to eat, the occasions were so few. "Well, obviously this place means a lot to him," she found herself saying. "At least he wants to share that with you."

Boruto gave her a skeptical look. "Yeah, whatever. Don't try to be my family therapist—it's weird."

She shot him a brief glare, but she didn't want to argue too much in public, and she had to admit that she'd be similarly annoyed if he tried to defend her own father.

"Anyway, what was up with that comment Teuchi made about _your_ dad?" Boruto asked, curious. "You didn't tell me he knew this place too."

"I didn't know," she admitted, frowning.

"Huh. Well, it is pretty popular with students, and our fathers both went to Konoha U, right? Maybe he used to come here then."

The arrival of Ayame with their food saved Sarada from having to confess any further how little she actually knew about her dad. They ate in silence for a while—the ramen really was excellent—before Sarada ventured, "You have a sister, right?" She had memories of a lively, cute black-haired girl who used to come up to Boruto at school sometimes. As an only child, she'd always been curious about what it was like to have a sibling.

"Yeah, Himawari." Boruto's tone was affectionate. "She's two years younger than me; just finished her first year at Konoha U in Fine Arts. She's the lucky one who just got the blue eyes, not the blue eyes _and_ blond hair. She doesn't have to listen to people telling her how much she looks like Dad all the damn time."

"You _do_ look a lot like him, though," Sarada pointed out, comparing him to the photo on the wall. "The resemblance is almost disturbing."

"Yeah, I _get_ it already. Would you shut up?"

She shrugged primly. "I'm just saying."

Boruto sighed morosely as he slurped up a mouthful of noodles. "It's so annoying. I've even thought about dyeing my hair."

"Don't," Sarada advised. "It looks fine the way it is." When he stared at her, and she realized she'd paid him a semi-compliment, she hastily backtracked. "I mean, your hair looks stupid enough as it is. Throw artificial colours into the mix and you'll start to look like some kind of human-alien mutant experiment gone wrong. And I'm not dating _that._ "

But Boruto smirked. "You like the hair, huh?"

" _Like_ is a strong word." Sarada avoided his eyes as she focused on her food.

"I like your glasses," he offered unexpectedly. "They, uh, suit your face."

She was pretty sure he was only saying that to wind her up, and it was fairly lame as compliments went anyway, but she still blushed. When she dared to look up, she found him watching her contemplatively, chopsticks suspended in the air over his bowl.

Ayame chose that moment to pass by their table. "I remember seeing your parents on their first date here, Boruto. This is like deja vu," she remarked, smiling fondly at them. "Your mother was prone to blushing too."

"I'm not _blushing_ ," Sarada denied vehemently, her mortification making her forget her resolve to act like a girl in the beginning stages of love. "The ramen is just hot."

Ayame just laughed. "But I see you're still your father's daughter, of course. And I'm sure Boruto wouldn't have it any other way."

She left them both rather embarrassed. "Well," Boruto said after an awkward pause, "I think she's buying our act, at least."

* * *

"Sasuke, will you be in Konoha for the next few days?" The call travelled up the stairs of the Uchiha household into the private study of its owner.

"Yes, looks like it." Sasuke Uchiha didn't look up from the folder he had his nose buried in as he reviewed the data he was presenting in a meeting the next day. He had just come back home for the first time in several weeks, but as always, there was still work to do.

His wife Sakura appeared in his doorway, having finished her post-dinner cleanup in the kitchen. "Well then, would you please talk to your daughter? I'm worried about her."

He did look up at that, brow furrowing. "Why, what's going on?" Sarada had always been a responsible and put-together child—now young woman, he had to remind himself—not to mention a straight A student. It was unusual for her to do anything that would provoke worry.

"Nothing in particular that I know of. It's just...when I went to her awards ceremony last week, she didn't seem very, well, happy. It was almost like she didn't really want the award. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she brushed me off."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Sasuke was willing to admit that feelings weren't exactly his forte. If Sakura had been unable to get their daughter to open up, he didn't see how he stood a chance.

Exasperated, Sakura put her hands on her hips, clear green eyes narrowing dangerously at him. "You're her _father,_ Sasuke. Talk to her. Ask her what's going on in her life. Show some interest in her. You haven't been around much lately; I'm sure she's missing you."

He considered. It _had_ been a long time since he'd really talked to Sarada, longer than he'd intended. Not to mention his wife was looking at him in a way that suggested he was in for some very unpleasant times if he didn't bend to her will. "Fine, I'll call her tomorrow."

"Good." She stepped into the room just long enough to lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, adding, "The rest of the dishes are yours to do, by the way. Don't leave them overnight!"

He grunted in mild displeasure, but watched her go with quiet affection. Home: the one place where fearsome business boss Sasuke Uchiha was ordered around like he was a lowly employee. He liked to be in charge, but sometimes it was a refreshing change.

Home was also a place he could count on for its consistency, a steady rock amidst the highs and lows of corporate goings-on. And a big part of that was Sarada: always the top of her class, always representing the Uchiha name with poise and confidence. He was aware that he didn't play a hugely active role in her life, but he'd never been good at nurturing, and she'd always seemed fine without him hovering around her. Whatever Sakura was worried about, he was sure it was nothing serious.

He had just returned to his file when his cell phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at it and frowned when he saw the caller name: _Idiot._ There was only one person he had saved in his contact list under an insult. What was _Naruto_ doing calling him at this hour? Or calling him at all, for that matter?

He was tempted to ignore it, but the rarity of the occurrence drove him to pick up. He pressed the "accept call" button and said shortly, "What? It's late."

"Hey, bastard!" came the predictably overexcited, too-loud answer. How Naruto still managed to sound like a bratty kid on a sugar high well into his forties, Sasuke would never understand. And when would he learn what an indoor voice was? "Have you talked to your daughter lately?"

Sasuke stiffened. Why was the idiot calling to ask about Sarada specifically? Not many things were off-limits in their everlasting quest to one-up each other, but targeting their children or wives was among the few unspoken taboos. Naruto's question also brought on an irritating wave of paternal guilt as he was reminded once again that the honest answer to that question was a resounding no.

"What's it to you, moron?"

"So you haven't heard anything about her being with Boruto?"

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. Sarada and Naruto's son? "What do you mean, _being with_ Boruto?"

"Exactly what I said, asshole! I was at Ichiraku's tonight and Teuchi said that earlier this week he saw Sarada and Boruto there together."

"Together as in they came in together, or together as in they just happened to be there at the same time?" Sasuke hadn't been aware that Sarada frequented Ichiraku's, but he supposed he wouldn't necessarily know. And their ramen _was_ good, so good he never felt quite right insulting it even to rile up Naruto.

"As in they sat at the same table and everything! Ayame said they looked _cute_ together."

The two rivals shared a moment of silence over the phone as they absorbed this damning statement.

Naruto began tentatively, "Do you think they're da—"

"Do _not_ go there, idiot," Sasuke cut him off furiously. "I would know." Well, _Sakura_ would know and she would tell him, but it was the same thing.

"How can you be sure? They're twenty-one now and they live away from home, who really knows what they're up to—"

" _Your son_ might be up to anything," Sasuke interrupted again, "but my daughter is more responsible, and has better taste, than that."

" _Bastard!_ What are you trying to say about my kid?" Naruto snarled.

"Just that he probably takes after you. And no daughter of mine would ever find that appealing."

"Well, if she's half as stuck-up as you, there's no way he'd go near her!"

Their customary back-and-forth was surprisingly reassuring in this situation. Sasuke took a deep breath. "That's what I'm saying. It's impossible."

"Then how do you explain what Teuchi and Ayame said?"

He had to admit—he couldn't. "...You talk to your kid, I'll talk to mine," he proposed finally, reluctantly. "Let's hear what they have to say and then regroup."

"Fine, bastard. Call me." Naruto hung up abruptly.

Sasuke tossed his phone back on the desk and stood to pace his study in an uncharacteristic fit of restlessness. Sakura had said Sarada was acting strangely, and now she'd been seen in public with the Uzumaki kid? He felt a sudden urge to call Sarada _immediately._ But it was almost eleven o'clock, and it wasn't exactly a national emergency. He could wait until tomorrow morning.

 _First thing_ tomorrow morning.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews would be much appreciated :)

I hope no one interprets the brief chat about Sumire as character-bashing. I don't dislike her character, even though I don't ship BoruSumi. In this fic I just felt like I kind of had to acknowledge her in some way, and since I don't want to make her a current love rival, I decided to make her a past relationship. Also, her reaction to snakes was not meant to be a slight—I'm rather afraid of snakes myself (I was making myself shudder a bit just writing the Sarada-meets-snake scene, haha).


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again for all the encouraging reviews! Up next: fatherly investigations commence.

Also: this past weekend I wrote an (unrelated) AU BoruSara oneshot that you might like if you're currently enjoying this story. If you're interested, check it out on my profile!

* * *

CHAPTER 3

When she emerged from the shower as she prepared for another day of her summer internship in the Uchiha Corporation's marketing department, Sarada noted with interest that she'd missed a call from her father. He'd left a brief message saying he was in town and telling her to call him back. Ordinarily she would have leaped at a chance to see him while he was home and would have responded immediately, and part of her was still tempted to, but she stuck to the principles of her new strategy: imperfection and disobedience. She wasn't going to beg for his attention anymore; he'd have to come to her. So she deleted the message and proceeded with her routine.

Half of her had expected him to forget that he'd ever called her, or to decide it wasn't worth it if she was busy too. She was shocked, therefore, when sometime around mid-morning, Sasuke Uchiha himself strode into the intern office area—a place he was almost never seen in, since all the work done there was far too menial and low-level for him to occupy himself with—and came right up to her desk, standing forebodingly behind her chair until she swivelled around and looked up at him. "Dad?"

"Sarada," he said brusquely. "Did you get my message?"

"Yes…" she replied hesitantly. He was giving her the lite version of his famously intimidating Uchiha glare, but it was still a glare, and still powerful even if she was less afraid of his wrath than most.

"Then why didn't you call me?" he demanded, stepping a little closer to her chair so he was truly towering over her.

She suddenly became aware that every single person in the room was staring at them, some more openly than others. She'd wanted to get a reaction out of her father, but she didn't want to become a public spectacle (at least not at this stage of her plan).

"Dad, what are you doing? We're at work." It was unheard-of for him to single her out like this in front of her colleagues. At the office, he treated his daughter with the same cold detachment he showed everyone else (not that she ever had much interaction with him there, as a lowly intern), and always went to great lengths to avoid even the slightest hint of favouritism.

He gave a little jerk and looked around, as if noticing for the first time that he had a captive audience—which was strange, because he was usually hyper-vigilant about his surroundings.

"Come to my office during your break," he ordered. "We'll have lunch there."

In a moment of fantastic boldness, Sarada very nearly said no. It would have been the exhilarating climax of her life of disobedience so far. But her courage failed her under his stern gaze, and she simply said, "I'll be there."

Passively-aggressively ignoring his phone message was probably enough for one day. She could work on outright defying his commands later.

He nodded curtly at her and turned on his heel, stalking out. All eyes immediately snapped back to their own screens. Except Sarada's—her thoughtful, rather amazed gaze followed him out.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Sarada found herself in her father and boss's office, silently eating takeout across from him. For as long as she could remember, her father had been a highly reserved man, and she was so accustomed to it by now that under normal circumstances, spending time in silence with him didn't feel awkward or strained (even if it was often disappointing, when she wished he would ask her questions about her life, or answer her own queries with something more than monosyllables).

Today was different, however. Today, the silence in the air was so uncomfortable, so tense, so heavy, she almost felt like bursting into song just to shatter it. But considering that her father was already eyeing her like she was some kind of alien creature he was struggling to make sense of, she didn't think that would be helpful.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Setting down her half-eaten container of food, she crossed her legs neatly, rested her clasped hands in her lap like she was at a job interview, and said, "So, Dad, what did you want to talk to me about?"

He put down his own dish and replied stoically, "Your mother's worried about you."

Over the years, Sarada had figured out that in conversation her father sometimes used her mother as a stand-in for himself when he wanted to convey certain feelings without owning up to them personally. She suspected that was what was going on here, but she wasn't quite brave enough to call him out on it.

"Why? I'm fine," she said lightly.

"Then can you explain what you were doing with Boruto Uzumaki at Ichiraku Ramen earlier this week?"

As usual, her father didn't have a lot of patience for beating around the bush. Sarada didn't mind his bluntness on its own, but she did feel a stab of resentment at the way he managed to make what should have been a perfectly innocuous father-daughter talk sound like a police interrogation. Twenty-one years and he still really had no idea how to talk to her.

Also, she was surprised he'd found out so quickly. She'd expected the word to get back to Naruto promptly, based on what Boruto had said about his dad's ties to Ichiraku's, but where would her father have gotten the news?

Only one way to find out. "How did you know about that?" she asked.

He didn't look pleased to be questioned, but he replied grudgingly, "Naruto Uzumaki knows the restaurant owners. He heard it from them and called me." He put the same contemptuous emphasis on "Naruto" as he always did, as if the word he'd really meant to use was "moron."

Sarada fought back a look of triumph at the revelation. The plan was going even better than she'd hoped if it had already pushed the two bitter rivals to the point of reaching out to each other for help. Not to mention her work-obsessed father had interrupted a day at the office to hunt her down and question her.

"Sarada." She snapped out of it, realizing she hadn't answered her father's request to explain.

"We were just having a meal, Dad. We've been in school together for years; is it that weird that we might hang out?"

"A meal. That's all it was?" Sasuke was giving her that narrow-eyed, piercing look that always made his employees confess all their mistakes immediately.

Luckily, Sarada had a certain degree of immunity to it, and she merely met his eyes and said calmly, "What else would it be?"

She sat there coolly under his close scrutiny for another minute. He opened his mouth slightly, and she thought he was going to ask another question, but then, somewhat to her disappointment, he just looked back down at the papers on his desk.

"Very well," he said simply. "You can go."

As she stood with a demure "Bye, Dad," and let herself out of his office, she could clearly see it happen, the moment he shifted from focusing on her to focusing on work: the way his elegant features cooled and smoothed out, the way his gaze lost its intensity as a more detached kind of calculation took its place. She'd always hated watching the change, as she was inevitably forced to do whenever they talked.

Today, though, it stung a little less than usual, with the satisfaction of her plan coming into bloom thrumming inside her.

* * *

"You gonna answer that?" Shikadai Nara asked, as Boruto's phone vibrated on the table for at least the tenth time that day.

Boruto glanced at the name of the caller lighting up the screen, then said, "Nope." At his friend's look, he defended himself innocently, "What? We're on the clock here. Answering the phone would be against my work ethic."

Uh-huh," Shikadai drawled. "And where was that work ethic yesterday when Mitsuki called?"

Boruto just shrugged and grinned, tossing an envelope into its corresponding box.

Unlike Sarada, Boruto hadn't gotten an internship at his father's company for the summer. He could have; even without the familial influence, he had good grades and a strong extracurricular record. But he hadn't even applied, unable to stomach the idea of his father literally being the boss of him for four months. Which was how he'd ended up working in the Konoha Post mailroom instead, sorting packages and envelopes from nine to five along with his classmate and old friend Shikadai. It was such a brutally boring job that at times he almost regretted passing up the internship— _almost_ , until he thought about how much it must irk his father to know that his son would rather sort mail all day than work for him. Anyway, Boruto would eat his shoes before going crawling back to Naruto, so he was stuck here for the summer for better or worse.

Shikadai's situation was a bit different. His father, Shikamaru Nara, was the Chief Operating Officer to Naruto's CEO, second-in-command at the Hokage Corporation. This should have meant that he could also easily obtain an internship there, but Shikadai couldn't even make the application requirement cut-off with his low B grade average. His less than stellar scholastic performance was the product not of a lack of ability but rather a total lack of motivation; like his father, he had a genius-level IQ, but he slacked off so much in his classes that his GPA never rose above mediocre. When his mother had discovered that he hadn't qualified to even apply for an internship, she'd threatened to skin him if he didn't find some other productive way to spend his summer. The least troublesome job available had appeared to be in the mailroom, so he'd joined Boruto there.

"If I ignored my parents' calls all day like that, my mom would kick my ass so hard I'd never be able to sit down again," Shikadai noted as he flipped lazily through his own stack of envelopes, eyeing the phone as it buzzed persistently.

"Well, yeah, my mom is a different story," Boruto admitted. "I wouldn't ignore _her_ calls. But this is all my dad. He likes to _think_ he can kick my ass, but he's so lame I could take him any day. Anyway, I already know why he's calling."

"Oh? Why?"

Boruto hesitated, then said, "I went out with Sarada."

"Sarada Uchiha?" Shikadai's blue-green eyes widened, surprise snapping him into alertness. "You went out with her? As in a date?"

"Yup."

"Well, I have to admit I didn't see that coming," the dark-haired young man remarked. "I didn't know you guys even talked."

"We didn't, really." The blond shrugged. "But then she asked me out."

Shikadai just looked at him for a few seconds, then declared flatly, "I call bullshit. There's no way that happened."

"Hey!" Boruto squawked indignantly. "What are you trying to say? You don't think Sarada's the type to go after what she wants?"

"Oh, I don't doubt Sarada's ability to go after what she wants. But there's no way _you're_ what she wants, just like that, all of a sudden. There's more to the story, isn't there?"

Boruto regretted ever telling his friend anything. Shikadai was too perceptive. "Okay, fine, there's more," he gave in with a sigh. "She did ask me out, but not for the usual reasons…"

He spilled the whole tale, ending with a plea not to tell anyone else; he and Sarada had agreed to try to keep the knowledge from as many people as possible, to minimize the chances of the truth getting back to their parents.

The Nara genius shook his head. "And that's the plan Sarada came up with? I thought she was smarter than that."

A little stung on her behalf, Boruto demanded, "What makes you think it won't work?"

"Your parents will see through it right away. Or at least Uchiha will, and he'll let your dad in on it soon enough."

"Well, I think you're underestimating us. Or overestimating them. Or both," Boruto maintained stubbornly.

Shikadai yawned. "We'll see, I guess. Either way, it's gonna be a drag."

* * *

After parting ways with his lazy friend at the end of the work day, Boruto felt his heart sink when he glanced at the parking lot and saw an unmistakable bright orange car sitting there. Hoping against hope that his dad had somehow failed to notice him exiting the building, he started to speed-walk in the other direction, but no luck: a familiar voice yelled out behind him, "BORUTO!"

He considered literally running, but he knew that his father would probably chase after him for blocks. Naruto could be amazingly shameless in public; it was a miracle he hadn't totally ruined his own company's image yet. So the younger Uzumaki turned around reluctantly, meeting his father's less-than-pleased look with a mulish expression.

"I hope you had fun ignoring me all day," the older blond growled.

"I did, actually. Best time of my life," Boruto sneered.

They stared angrily at each other for a minute in a fierce blue-on-blue showdown, before Naruto finally sighed and glanced away. "Get in the car," he said, his previous ire dying down into annoyed resignation. "We need to talk, and I need to get back to work. I'll drop you off at your place on the way."

"You _always_ need to get to back to work," Boruto snapped, "which is why this time, I'll save you the trouble of wasting time dealing with me. We don't need to talk, and I'd rather walk home anyway."

"Don't test me, Boruto," Naruto warned, patience at an end. "If you don't get in the car now, I'll make the kind of scene that will keep you from ever being able to show your face in this neighbourhood again!"

Boruto knew the threat was serious. Glowering, he stalked over to the orange eyesore of a car, yanking open the passenger door and shoving himself inside. He and his dad would already have a lot fewer problems if the old man would just move on from his twisted love affair with the colour orange, he reflected.

Naruto drove in silence for a few minutes, letting them both cool down a little. When he spoke, his husky voice was hard but calm. "What if I'd been calling you about something really important?"

"So you're admitting it wasn't actually important?" Boruto asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Boruto."

"If it was really important, I know you'd get Mom to call me. I'd answer _her._ "

Amused at Boruto's (actually quite sound) reasoning in spite of himself, Naruto managed to scowl and half-laugh at the same time. "You really think you've got things figured out, don't you?"

"I think I've got _you_ figured out, at least," Boruto said impudently. "Work, work, ramen, work, work, orange, work, more work, work again, and oh yeah, did I have kids or something?"

Naruto snorted. He paused, then ventured, "And what about Sarada Uchiha? You think you've got _her_ figured out too?"

 _Here we go,_ Boruto thought. "I guess you could say I'm working on it," he said nonchalantly, looking out the side window.

"Boruto…" Naruto trailed off helplessly. "What is this really about? You've never liked Sarada. You've barely even _talked_ to Sarada."

"Right, because _you_ would know. Since when have you had the time to take a good look at the things and people I really care about?"

"Then are you saying you really like her? _Sasuke's_ daughter?" Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Naruto swerved down Boruto's apartment street a little too sharply, bumping his son's shoulder against the window with the force of the turn.

"Is this really why you were calling me all day?" Boruto demanded, exasperated. "To bring your stupid business rival drama into my personal life? Newsflash, Dad: my personal life is _personal._ And it's not like you've ever been that interested in it before. What I do with Sarada or anyone else is none of your concern."

Almost before the car had come to a complete stop, he unclasped his seatbelt and climbed out, leaning back in to say sarcastically, "I'd invite you up to my place to continue this discussion, but you have to get back to work, right?" before shutting the passenger door with a slam.

Naruto did genuinely have to get back to work. But he still idled there by the kerb in front of his son's apartment for a good ten minutes.

* * *

Leaning back against her pillows with her laptop balanced on her thighs as she reflected back on her day, Sarada found herself once again navigating to Boruto's Facebook profile. The uppermost photo on his wall was a selfie they'd strategically taken outside Ichiraku's to offer public proof of their date, the restaurant's logo visible in the background as they stood by the entrance. He didn't have his arm around her or anything—they'd both agreed that would look like a bit too much too fast for this early stage of their "relationship"—but their shoulders were touching, his head was tilted ever so slightly down toward hers as he instinctively tried to compensate for his height advantage, and they were both smiling, his grin as broad and brilliant as hers was small and reserved. It was a reasonably convincing picture of Sarada Uchiha and Boruto Uzumaki as friends-or-possibly-more, if she did say so herself.

And it seemed like their act was doing its job. Thinking back to her earlier chat with her dad, entirely instigated by him, she felt a thrill of hope, the strongest she'd had in a while. Was it pathetic that she was more excited by the fact that her father had glared at her and asked her why she'd ignored his phone message than by all her hard-won awards? Probably, but that didn't diminish the excitement.

In fact she wished she had someone to share it with, but the list of possible confidants was rather short. She looked at the photo again, deliberating, then picked up her phone and dialed Boruto.

He answered on the fourth ring, sounding surprised and a bit disgruntled. "Hey, Sarada?"

"Hey," she said, suddenly floundering as she realized she didn't exactly know where to go from here. She settled on, "Did you hear from your dad?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," he grunted. "The old man was as much of a pissy killjoy as ever."

"So does he think there's something going on with us?"

"Oh, he thinks there's _something_ going on all right, but he wasn't getting any specifics from me."

Sincerely baffled, Sarada asked, "Is there some reason you sound _mad_ about this? This is what we wanted. Didn't he seem annoyed? Confused? Dismayed?"

There was a pause, and when Boruto's voice returned, it sounded considerably cheerier, as if he'd just seen things in a new light. "All of the above, actually."

"Well then, stop being an idiot and think positive," she advised sensibly. "The plan's working."

"On your side too?"

"It seems so," she affirmed with satisfaction. "Apparently your dad called mine to talk about it."

"Seriously? Damn, they must really be freaking out to go to each other for support like that," Boruto said with a snicker.

"I've never seen my father freak out," Sarada admitted, struggling to picture what that would look like. "He's not really the type."

"That's what _you_ think. _I_ think you've just never pushed him far enough," was Boruto's confident assessment. "But we're going to change that very soon."

The cocky attitude she'd always found so off-putting in him back in high school must have been growing on her, because the arrogant statement just made her feel amused and energized instead of irritated. She realized she was glad Boruto was her partner in this, and not just because he happened to be an Uzumaki.

She felt suddenly compelled to say, "I appreciate you doing this."

She got a vaguely embarrassed chuckle in return. "Hey, I'm getting as much out of this as you are, right? Anyway, we kind of make a good team, don't you think?"

Even though he couldn't see it, a smile spread across her face. "I suppose we do."

* * *

A/N: So there was more talking about BoruSara than actual BoruSara in this chapter, but I managed to get a bit in at the end there, and lots more is to come! Thanks for reading :)

I hope I'm not making Boruto seem too bratty with his father. I'm trying to base him on canon Boruto, who I also think is undeniably a bit bratty (in a lovable way), but I may be glossing over the fact that canon Boruto is quite a few years younger, so his self-absorbed reactions make a bit more sense. Still, I do think that having a parent who seems too busy for you can hurt a lot at any age, and I'm hoping I'm not too far off from a conceivable result of that kind of hurt built up over years combined with Boruto's naturally outspoken, passionate personality.


	4. Chapter 4

Please accept my continued gratitude for the reviews—especially those of you who review every chapter, and the anonymous reviewers that I can't message to thank personally—and enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

CHAPTER 4

Late that Sunday night, not long before closing, Ichiraku Ramen was treated to an event it hadn't seen in years, if one that had perhaps been foreshadowed earlier that week: the entrance of Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha, together.

It was enough to make Teuchi and Ayame stare, but even with all the time that had passed since they'd last welcomed Sasuke, they knew better than to make a fuss over his presence. It wouldn't do to annoy or embarrass him into walking right back out, after all (which was something they'd seen him do on several occasions in the past, when Naruto had been behaving particularly loudly and obnoxiously).

So Teuchi just bid him a jovial but simple "Long time no see," and Ayame brought him a menu with a bright, intrigued smile. Naruto, of course, didn't need one, having had it memorized for years.

"You honestly think _this_ is the place to have a serious discussion?" Sasuke glanced around shiftily after they placed their orders, as if worried someone might recognize him.

"Sure, I have serious discussions here all the time!" Naruto assured him.

"About what, the best flavour of ramen?" Sasuke sneered, but he had sudden visions of Naruto holding board meetings or something here. He wouldn't put it past the ramen-obsessed moron.

"Hey, _we_ used to have serious discussions here," the blond man pointed out.

It was true. In their university days, and in the following years before they'd both risen so high in their respective companies that their time for such casual meetings had been all but eliminated, Naruto had dragged him here almost weekly, and they'd talked (read: argued) about a variety of subjects. Sasuke worked hard to break himself of the bad habit of dwelling on the past, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder where those days had gone.

"So," Naruto got to the point clumsily, "Boruto and Sarada, huh?"

"There is no 'Boruto and Sarada,' idiot," Sasuke snapped, quick to cut off that line of thinking. "They're faking it."

The Uzumaki's face screwed up in confusion. "Huh?"

"I suspected it from the start, and talking to Sarada confirmed it. It's the only explanation that makes sense. She was very evasive about it when I asked, and I could tell she was hoping to get a rise out of me. In all these years they've never become more than distant acquaintances, yet suddenly they're having dinner together? Not to mention, he's hardly her type."

Naruto scowled at the implied slight on his son, but acknowledged, "I did think it was kind of weird that they went to Ichiraku's. I mean, I know Boruto likes the food well enough here, but it hasn't exactly usually been his first choice for dates."

"But he knows you'd hear about it if he came here," Sasuke agreed. "It's an obvious ploy for attention."

"Okay, that's...good, kind of, I guess. Better than some of the stuff I was imagining, at least." Naruto relaxed a little. "So what're we going to do about it?"

The Uchiha paused. He'd been so relieved once he'd concluded that there was no real romance involved that he hadn't even thought about any future action.

"I mean, _why_ are they doing this to us?" his companion demanded plaintively, nearly whining. "I almost had a heart attack. I thought I might actually have to become _related_ to a bastard like you!"

Sasuke's eye twitched. Classic Naruto, getting way ahead of himself. Even if by some cruel, ludicrous twist of fate their children _had_ been dating, that was still worlds away from _marriage_ (thank all the powers that be).

"All kids act out to get their parents' attention," he pointed out dismissively, ignoring the uneasy voice in his head that was saying, _Not Sarada._ "And they're still at what could be considered a rebellious age. The less attention we pay to their supposed relationship, the better. It will only encourage them if we seem concerned."

"Every age is a rebellious age with Boruto," Naruto muttered, mournfully contemplating his recently delivered bowl of ramen. "So what, you're saying we should just sit around and wait, and eventually they'll get bored, get over it and give up? _That's_ your brilliant plan?"

"As if you have anything better in mind," Sasuke growled defensively.

Naruto straightened and stared at him with intense blue eyes, clearly thinking hard for a few moments, before sagging in defeat. "Yeah, I got nothing."

His dark-haired rival sighed and picked up his chopsticks. "Idiot."

* * *

The large canvas Sarada stopped in front of was so vividly and vibrantly painted, it was like a burst of flame burning up the white wall surrounding it. The most striking piece in the art-filled room, it was a not-quite-abstract design dominated by thick, intricately shaded swaths of searing red-orange, forming a fiery mass at the centre of which was a dark, vaguely humanoid form. Sarada's taste in art usually ran on the more traditional side, but she had to admit there was something arresting and beautiful about the chaos of this work. The small plaque underneath it revealed its title to be "Will of Fire," and the artist's name was—

"It's Himawari's," Boruto said proudly next to her, interrupting her silent observations. "What do you think?"

"I think," she replied, "that I understand now why everything you ever produced in high school art class was so hideous."

His mouth fell open in outrage. " _Wha…_?!"

"It's obviously because all the genes carrying artistic talent passed you by and went to your sister instead," she finished smoothly. "This piece is amazing."

"I don't think that's how genetics works," Boruto grumbled, but he looked appeased by her sincere praise of Himawari's skill.

Two weeks into their dating scheme, Boruto had invited Sarada to accompany him to a vernissage for a student art exhibit featuring some of his sister's work, as another opportunity to parade her around in front of his parents. Well into the event, Naruto had yet to make an appearance, but he had promised Himawari he'd show at some point.

A sweet, light laugh rang out behind the two of them, and Sarada turned to face a petite young woman with a black-haired bob that framed round cheeks, a button nose, and dancing eyes. Sarada had never really interacted with Himawari up close, but those blue Uzumaki eyes were unmistakable.

"Finally decided to grace your awesome big brother with your presence, huh?" Boruto pretended to complain, giving her an exaggeratedly hurt face. "About time."

"Sorry," she said, but the accompanying giggle took most of the repentance out of it. "I was talking to my professor."

"Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses," Boruto said, fake-pouting. "Anyway, Sarada here was just saying she liked your painting. Sarada, Himawari; Himawari, Sarada."

"Hi, Sarada. And thank you!" The younger Uzumaki beamed.

"Your piece certainly catches the eye," Sarada confirmed her positive opinion with a smile, following Boruto's concise introduction. "Then again, so does your brother's art...in a very different way." Since it was obvious from Himawari's mirth that she had overheard Sarada's earlier jab at her older brother's artistic abilities, the Uchiha figured (not without relief) that it was too late to start acting all starry-eyed in love.

Boruto's sister laughed again. "It does, right? Art class was your lowest grade, wasn't it, Boruto?"

"Only because all my other grades were so high!" he protested. "And what's with this ganging up on me? Unfair! I didn't come to this thing just so you two could insult me all night."

"It's not 'ganging up,' it's just speaking truth," Sarada countered reasonably, patting his arm in a mock show of support. "The people who really care about you will always be honest with you, even when it hurts."

Boruto tried to glare at her, but couldn't summon any real ire. Although he would have preferred that they bond over something other than teasing him, it struck him that it might not be a bad thing if Himawari and Sarada got along, even outside of fake relationship purposes. Smart, successful, and strong-willed, Sarada was a positive female role model, and it might do his little sister some good to see him in a relationship with a woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind. It had always bugged him that even though Himawari had also suffered under their father's workaholism, she was always quick to forgive him and rarely tried to hold him accountable, rather like their mother. He didn't want Himawari to go into her own relationships thinking that it was okay for a guy to sideline her like that. The influence of someone like Sarada, who would no doubt kick the ass of any boyfriend who tried to relegate her to the role of a secondary background support, could only help.

"Do you do any kind of art, Sarada?" Himawari was inquiring curiously.

"Me? No. I did better in art class than Boruto—not that that was a challenge—but it's not my specialty. I'm better suited to being an admirer than a practitioner."

"You clearly have a good eye, though." The younger woman smiled at her appreciatively. "Your outfit is really nice! So classy and well-coordinated."

"...Thank you," Sarada said, looking faintly startled but flattered. It surprised Boruto how often she seemed caught off guard by casual compliments, when he imagined she must receive plenty, with all of her achievements. Then again, it was Sarada; of course she would hold herself to absurdly high standards and find it hard to believe that others would settle for less.

He also found himself agreeing with Himawari's assessment. Tonight Sarada was wearing a simple short black skirt and a high-necked cream-coloured blouse just off-white enough so as not to wash her out, and she'd given her thick bangs a more central part than usual, revealing more of her forehead to give her a slightly more mature, symmetrical look. He'd never paid much attention to it before they'd started "dating," but Sarada had a sense of style that was both practical and elegant. She always found the right balance—never too flashy or too plain, never too formal or too casual—and she evidently had a precise understanding of what suited her, both physically and personality-wise. She wasn't a stunning beauty, but the sheer competence and self-awareness she exuded held their own unique attraction.

He was jolted from his staring by a light elbow to the ribs—Sarada was nudging him in the direction of a new arrival, a small middle-aged woman with straight shoulder-length black hair, lovely pearly-white eyes, and a relaxed grace to her movements.

"Boruto, you didn't tell me you were bringing a guest tonight," Hinata Uzumaki said, the very slightest of reproofs in her gentle tone. "I've been circling the room taking in all the pieces, but I would have come and found you sooner if I'd known there was someone I should introduce myself to."

He winced—he had no problem talking back after any amount of furious ranting from his father, but even light rebukes from his mother somehow always made him feel like he'd kicked a puppy—but to his surprise, Sarada spoke up in his defence.

"To be fair, I think we were technically introduced years ago, at some business event or another. And I know Boruto was just excited to show me Himawari's work, otherwise he'd have brought me over to you right away. But," she added, sweetening her words with a smile, "I'm certainly happy to meet you in a more casual setting."

Hinata smiled back at her, the expression more placid and demure than the broad grin her husband and son shared and the sunny smile of her daughter, but no less warm or genuine. "Yes, it's good to see you, Sarada. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you. Enjoying the summer so far." The Uchiha glanced at Boruto as she spoke.

Never one to endure dull formalities for long, he took that as his cue to join in and liven up the conversation, and he broke in with, "Mom, help me out here. Sarada and Hima have been picking on me!"

"Oh?" Clearly familiar with her son's dramatics, Hinata looked more amused than concerned.

"They've been making fun of my art skills all night," he complained. "I mean, just because I don't get my own art exhibit like Himawari…"

"Well, you used to draw pictures for me all the time," Hinata said thoughtfully. After an instant of hesitation, she added diplomatically, "They were always done with a great deal of love and sincerity."

Himawari laughed outright at their mother's careful response—love and sincerity were all well and good, but even kindhearted Hinata, who could find something to praise in everything, obviously couldn't commit to saying anything positive about the _technical_ quality of Boruto's work—and so did Sarada, albeit more briefly and sedately. He suddenly realized that he he rather liked the sound. The women in his family both had light, tinkling laughter; Sarada's was a richer, slightly deeper burst. The chance to hear it softened the blow to his ego.

"Love and sincerity have artistic merit too, I suppose," Sarada allowed generously. He reasoned it away as a part of her act.

"Of course," his mother agreed.

"Um, Mom—" Himawari began, her eyes widening as they suddenly fixed on something behind the older woman.

But her warning came too late, as a moment later Hinata was literally pounced on by six feet of lively blond man. Her husband had seemingly crept up on her with impressive stealth, only to leap on her with a hug from behind, squeezing her around the waist and planting a kiss on the side of her head. She jumped with a little "eep," blushing, but relaxed quickly as she evidently realized who it was.

Boruto groaned in disgust at the embarrassing display. "Seriously, Dad?! We're in public, and Hima's friends and teachers are here. Could you not?" He was fleetingly glad he hadn't brought someone he was _really_ dating. At least Sarada had some prior idea of what his father was like.

"Lighten up," Naruto laughed boisterously, releasing his wife and stepping away. "One day you'll have a girl of your own and you'll understand—"

He stopped abruptly as he noticed who was standing next to his son.

Sarada recovered first. "Good evening, Mr. Uzumaki," she said politely.

"Uchiha," he breathed, looking gobsmacked, then cleared his throat and shook himself. "I mean, Sarada. Evening."

Himawari broke through the sudden awkwardness by coming forward to hug him. "Dad, you made it!" She'd always had a higher tolerance for their father's antics than her older brother.

Still eyeing Sarada warily, Naruto nonetheless reached down to pat his daughter on the back. "Just like I promised! How's the show going?"

"You wouldn't have to ask if you weren't an hour late," Boruto commented darkly.

Just like that, the awkwardness came rushing back. Himawari murmured something about how it was going well while the two men exchanged hard looks, the same tension tightening their strikingly similar faces.

Sarada was slightly in awe of Boruto's apparent willingness to engage his father in open battle just like that. She could hardly imagine showing her dad such blatant disdain and disrespect to his face, in public—hence this more roundabout plan of hers. She did feel a little sorry for Himawari and Hinata, who had both been nice to her, but were now looking anxious and somehow resigned, as if this was nothing new. She could see how it would be a delicate and difficult matter, especially for such gentle personalities, to be caught up in a conflict between two people they cared about.

Fortunately, as an outsider, no such limits were placed on her. She casually sidled a little closer to Boruto and let her fingers brush his—not actually grabbing his hand, just nudging it to get his attention. When it had the desired effect and his head snapped toward her, she prodded, "Boruto, aren't you going to show me around the rest of the gallery?"

"... _Fine_ ," he ground out after a pause, shooting another unfriendly look back at his father.

When she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his tone, he took a breath and made a passable effort at suppressing his bad mood, managing a much more civil, "I mean, yeah. For sure. Let's go check things out."

He did actually grab her hand, a bit roughly, and was about to tug her away with him when Naruto burst out, "Boruto..!"

His father was staring at their entwined hands, a frustrated expression on his face. He opened his mouth, obviously struggling with something, then closed it again.

When it didn't seem like he was going to say anything, Sarada filled the silence with, "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Uzumaki. You too, Mrs. Uzumaki, Himawari."

"The pleasure was ours," Boruto's mother hastened to reply, smiling at her. Naruto gave a jerky little nod, so stiff it looked painful, and said nothing.

"Boruto, you should bring Sarada home to dinner someday," Hinata added unexpectedly. She turned her warm eyes on his companion. "We'd love to have you, Sarada." Next to her, her husband winced like she'd jabbed him with a needle.

"Yeah, it'd be fun!" Himawari backed her up enthusiastically.

"Uh, sure, sometime," Boruto mumbled. He had known his mother would be polite and kind to Sarada—he didn't think she'd ever been particularly invested in the Uzumaki-Uchiha feud, and even if she had been, she was way too nice to take it out on his classmate—but he hadn't expected her to be quite so openly welcoming so quickly. He wasn't entirely certain how to feel about it, especially with his father also standing right there, doing a terrible job of concealing his displeasure.

"I'd love to come." Sarada's tone was confident and firm, her default setting, and he noticed that she was looking his father squarely in the eye as she spoke—going straight for the pressure point, just daring him to object. Naturally, he didn't; Boruto was pretty sure no one would have when confronted with that challenging Uchiha stare. Watching Naruto Uzumaki glance away and keep quiet—and this was a man who was known for closing business deals by simply never shutting up or backing down—he wondered if maybe Sarada could teach him a thing or two about defying authority, although he'd always prided himself on his own skill in that area (and had historically regarded her as something of a teacher's pet).

With that the pair slipped away, Boruto guiding them to the other end of the room, where they stopped and pretended to examine another canvas on the wall. Sarada looked meaningfully down at their hands, still joined, and he hastily let go.

"Sorry about that," he said in a low voice, leaning his head in close to hers so they wouldn't be overheard. "My dad, I mean. I don't think he even meant to be that rude to you; he just...really sucks at basic manners, especially when he's caught off guard."

"What are you apologizing for? After what I've heard and seen of your father in the past, it was a bit underwhelming, to be honest. I was hoping for a more extreme reaction," she said, matching his quiet tone and frowning slightly. Boruto supposed that by Naruto Uzumaki's energetic standards, it _had_ been quite restrained. "I've gotten worse brush-offs from my own father."

Feeling a little bad for her, and grimacing at what that suggested _he_ might have to go through if/when he talked to her dad, Boruto almost missed her softer last comment: "Besides, your mother was very nice."

"She was," he acknowledged readily. "I mean, she's the kind of person who would be nice to you even if she hated your guts, but I think she honestly liked you. Himawari, too. You two hit it off right away."

"Well, anyone who enjoys making fun of you is someone I can get along with," she told him with a smirk.

"Yeah, I noticed!" was his irked reply, but when she just ignored him in favour of the painting before them, he encountered the same problem he'd been having all night: being unable to properly hold onto his annoyance. "So, mission accomplished for tonight then, I guess."

"Don't get complacent," she warned. "That just means it's time to plan our next move."

Boruto found he was somehow looking forward to it.

* * *

A/N: I love writing Naruto/Sasuke scenes alongside Boruto/Sarada; it's so much fun to tease out the parallels there. I love all four of them!

Thanks for reading! Reviews would make my day :)


	5. Chapter 5

As always, thanks for the support! This chapter brings back a bit of Mitsuki—I don't know about you, but I've been missing him—and features guest appearances by Sakura and Tsunade. I hope you're all having as much fun reading this as I'm having writing it!

* * *

CHAPTER 5

After the art show, the next strategic location selected for Operation Piss Off Dad, as Boruto had affectionately termed it once, also had an academic connection: a weekend medical conference at Konoha University. The idea had been inspired by Mitsuki, who had informed Boruto and Sarada in passing that he was going to the conference to assist with presenting Orochimaru's latest research. This had reminded Sarada that her mother, who was Chief Surgeon at the busy Konoha Central Hospital, had also been invited to give a talk on some of her more groundbreaking techniques. Sasuke was out of town yet again—no surprise there—but Sarada knew that another effective way to reach him was by reaching her mother first, who would then report back to him. (Most of the time Sarada suspected that her mother's interventions were the only reason he knew anything about her life at all, anyway.) And while her mother might find it hard to believe that she would be interested in medical lectures, since Mitsuki was participating she could say she was supporting a friend.

After some token griping about having to spend a perfectly nice summer day cooped up inside at a boring conference, Boruto had agreed to the plan. And that was how they ended up in the throng of people who were milling around the lobby of the Konoha U Science Building before the Saturday morning panel, making small talk with their fellow academics or medical professionals (or in the case of Boruto and Sarada, hanging out in a corner keeping an eye out for Sakura Uchiha while helping themselves to complimentary coffee and pastries).

"Try not to fall asleep while you're talking to my mother, would you?" Sarada said, critically eyeing the way Boruto was slouching against the wall, blue eyes dull and half-closed, yawning and acting as if raising a plastic cup of coffee to his lips was a Herculean feat.

"Hey, it's not my fault you made me get up at seven on a Saturday," he retorted, making no effort to rouse himself.

"There she is!" she hissed suddenly, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the centre of the small crowd so they could intercept her mother. He almost coughed up his mouthful of coffee at the abrupt jolt, and stumbled along spluttering. At least the near-choking experience helped wake him up.

She let him go and gave him the chance to right himself just in time as a professional-looking woman in a pantsuit turned around to see them, her sparkling emerald-green eyes widening. Sakura Uchiha was still a striking beauty well into her forties, with her unique short pink hair and the radiant smile she greeted them with now.

"Sarada! And...Boruto?" She didn't hide her surprise, but her smile didn't fade, either. Physically Sarada took after her father more, with the dark eyes and hair, but Boruto could see similarities between the two women in the shape of the face and in the kind of latent fierceness that seemed to linger around the sharp, thin line of Sakura's eyebrows, which suggested that Sarada's ability to intimidate didn't come only from her father.

"I wasn't expecting to see you two here!" Despite Sakura's light, pleasant air, there was a flash of suspicion in those otherwise benevolent green eyes.

"Hi, Mom," Sarada said. The women's closeness was obvious from her unusually relaxed, affectionate tone. "One of our friends is presenting some research, so we came to see him."

"Oh, I see. It's nice of you to support him," Sakura noted kindly (although the suspicious light in her eyes hadn't completely disappeared). After an initial startled moment, she seemed to have taken Boruto's presence in stride. "What's his research on? Maybe I know the project."

Suddenly realizing she didn't even know, Sarada looked to Boruto, who couldn't do a whole lot better. "Uh...I'm not really sure," he admitted. "Something to do with tissue regeneration, I think? Mitsuki—that's our friend—doesn't talk about it much. I think his professor, Orochimaru, has pretty strict policies about keeping the research details under wraps until they're ready for a public launch."

"He works with Orochimaru?" Sakura pressed her lips together, but kept further comment to a tactfully murmured "Hmm." Sarada remembered that her mother was among the medical experts who had contested some of Orochimaru's methods on ethical grounds. She thought Sakura might even have had something to do with persuading her father not to enter into a business partnership with the researcher.

"Yeah, what about it?" Boruto asked bluntly, bordering on rudeness. He had caught her silent judgment too, and was quick to jump in where there might be a need to defend Mitsuki. Sarada had to respect his sense of loyalty.

But Sakura wasn't cowed or offended. "Nothing in particular," she replied mildly. "I was just remembering some issues Professor Orochimaru has had in the past with research ethics boards. But I hear he's become more compliant these days. And he's undeniably brilliant, so I'm sure your friend is learning a lot from him."

"Yeah, Mitsuki seems to like it well enough," Boruto said more agreeably, satisfied that Sarada's mother wasn't about to try to slander his friend.

The older woman gave both of them a long assessing look before she smiled earnestly again. "You know, I don't know how this came about, but I'm really glad to see you two getting along. Sarada, I've been telling your father for years that he needs to tone down this ridiculous rivalry with _your_ father"—she nodded to Boruto—"but to no avail. It's gotten so out of hand. But seeing that you two are able to look past all that...well, that's all we can ask of the next generation, isn't it—that they don't make the same mistakes we did. It gives me hope for the future."

Boruto couldn't help but smile back, a little touched by the sincere if slightly misguided sentiment in spite of himself. He expected Sarada to respond, but to his surprise she was uncharacteristically looking down at the floor, face blank. Why was _he_ the one carrying this conversation when it was _her_ mother? Still, he rose to the occasion, saying awkwardly, "It's no big deal. We're just, you know, hanging out."

Sakura laughed, a merry sound that seemed to linger in the air for a few moments even after it had cut off, warming the room around her. "Boruto, what a wonderful thing to say. An Uchiha and an Uzumaki hanging out, admitting it, and calling it no big deal? That's what's so great about it."

Sarada managed to offer her mother a weak smile before she was almost knocked sideways into Boruto as someone passing behind accidentally brushed her. He reached out a hand reflexively to brace her, but she regained her balance on her own first. Shaking it off and dismissing their queries about whether she was all right, she looked around at the sudden bustle of people. "It looks like the auditorium is open now. We should head inside," she pointed out briskly.

"That's my cue—my panel is up first," Sakura agreed cheerfully. "I guess I'll be seeing you two in the audience, then. Wish me luck!" With a good-natured wave, she turned to follow the surge of bodies into the lecture hall. The younger pair began to move more slowly in the same direction.

"Soooo…" Boruto commented, his expression an elaborate mix of amused, disturbed, puzzled, and possibly flattered, "I don't know about your dad, but it seems to me that if you wanted to piss off your _mom_ , you'd be better off dating Mitsuki. Is it just me, or does she kind of ship us?"

"It's just you," Sarada retorted automatically, but she was too preoccupied to really rise to the bait. For the first time since she'd started this plan, she felt... _guilty_. Her mother, the person who'd always been there for her even when her father wasn't, and someone Sarada looked up to for her integrity and compassion, thought she was doing something good and noble, reaching out beyond petty prejudices. In actual fact, she was fanning the flames of those petty prejudices for her own ends. It suddenly put a rather nasty spin on the whole thing.

The thought kept her silent and frowning through the whole process of settling down near the back of the auditorium, Boruto on her left at the end of the aisle and Mitsuki dropping in smoothly on her right after wrapping up a conversation with some of his fellow lab members. His own presentation wasn't until the afternoon, so he had some time to kill with his friends first.

She watched distractedly as Tsunade Senju, her mother's mentor and boss, came to the podium to deliver a short keynote speech. A decorated doctor who was past the average age of retirement but could still somehow pass for decades younger than she was, Tsunade had encountered some professional troubles over the years due to her slightly out-of-control drinking and gambling, but it was said that even drunk she was still one of the best trauma surgeons in the world, and her natural air of command and no-bullshit attitude made her a good fit for Executive Director of Konoha Central Hospital. Whatever her faults, she was deeply respected and loved by her protege Sakura, and she had even babysat a young Sarada every now and then.

Sarada knew it was rude to talk during someone else's speech, but she was so perturbed by her recent thoughts that she just couldn't wait. She turned to Boruto and whispered, "Do you think this is...wrong?"

He looked surprised that she of all people would interrupt a lecture like this, but whispered back, "What is? And wrong how?"

"Our plan. And wrong as in morally wrong. The lying, the playing off our fathers' enmity, which we might end up making worse…"

He shrugged, unbothered. "Well, it's not exactly morally _right,_ but it's lying for a good cause, right? Our dads are the ones who insist on keeping this feuding families thing going, which even your mom thinks is stupid, so as far as I'm concerned they deserve what they get. Anyway, it's a prank; this is just how pranks are."

"It's not really a _prank_ ," she objected, somehow feeling that that categorization trivialized what she was trying to achieve. She wasn't doing this for entertainment, she was doing it so she could make an important point to her father.

Boruto snorted. "Face it, Sarada, it's definitely a prank. You're a prankster now. Welcome to the ranks of pranksterhood."

Unfortunately his snort had been a little too loud, and Tsunade cleared her throat, her eyes fixing on the back of the auditorium suspiciously. Sarada and Boruto both quieted and straightened guiltily in their seats until she started speaking again.

Once she was a few sentences further in, Boruto leaned back toward Sarada and whispered again in a taunting, sing-song voice, " _Prankster_."

She shot him an irritated look, to which he responded with a cheeky grin. Still, she snorted (quietly) to herself in reluctant amusement as she looked away. She did feel a little better somehow. After all, Boruto had always managed to be a troublemaker while still undeniably remaining a good person, and even his most elaborate and messy pranks in high school had never resulted in any long-term damage to anyone.

All too soon, however, she was revising that opinion when it became apparent that his restless antics might do some long-term damage to her sanity. All through the first panelist's droning presentation, he'd taken to tearing little strips of paper off his name tag (all conference attendees had received one), rolling them up into little balls, and throwing them at Mitsuki. Since she was seated between the two of them, this meant that all the projectiles passed either in front of her face or behind her back, and occasionally one even bounced off of her, not that she ever got an apology.

Mitsuki, who probably dealt with this kind of nonsense regularly as Boruto's roommate, was quite successfully ignoring him. He continued to type away dutifully on his laptop as he listened and took notes, every now and then brushing a paper ball off his keyboard with graceful nonchalance.

Sarada, on the other hand, had no such built-up immunity to the Uzumaki's seemingly limitless capacity to annoy. After yet another one of the paper balls grazed the back of her neck, she finally snapped at him, "Would you _please stop_? You're in university, not kindergarten. Is this what you're like in all of your classes?"

In her irritation she misjudged her own volume, and the current presenter clearly heard her. The unfortunate academic stuttered to a stop in the middle of his sentence and blinked woundedly out at the spectators, like he thought the comment might have been meant for him. Disapproving murmurs could be heard from a few other audience members. Face burning, Sarada clamped her jaw shut and stared rigidly ahead.

The paper-throwing ceased after that, and for a short but blessed time she thought that at least the incident had discouraged Boruto from any bad behaviour, but it was only halfway into the next presentation when she looked over and saw that he was sleeping, literally sleeping, on the desk. His head was resting on his pillowed arms, he was inhaling and exhaling steadily, and he looked like he might start snoring at any moment—he seemed like the type who would snore. She looked around, cringing. She didn't want to be associated with a guy who fell asleep while someone else was talking at a professional conference!

She caught Mitsuki's eye and nodded impatiently at Boruto with a look that said, _Do something!_

The golden-eyed young man's response was merely to cock his head, unfazed, and give her an innocent _Do what?_ look in return, before going back to his notes.

Maybe Mitsuki lacked the wiring in his brain necessary to feel embarrassment or outrage—that would certainly explain a lot about his willingness to be friends with Boruto—but she wasn't so lucky. She had to do _something._ She carefully reached out her left foot and gently kicked the leg of Boruto's chair, but all that elicited from him was a low grunt. So she kicked again, harder this time. Perhaps a little _too much_ harder, because the chair promptly tipped over completely, dumping him onto the floor in the aisle with a clatter and a half-awake yelp that echoed deafeningly in the lecture hall. Everyone's heads swivelled back toward him, and the latest presenter stopped talking.

Shocked and a bit remorseful about the fall, Sarada reached over to offer him a hand as he slowly gathered himself up, rubbing the arm he'd landed on and shooting her a dirty look. But then her gaze snapped back to the stage as the rapid, angry clicking of heels signaled Tsunade's return to the podium, where the woman shouldered the present speaker aside, leaned into the microphone herself, and bellowed, "SARADA UCHIHA!"

Sarada flushed to her toes in mortification at being called out by name, and Boruto snickered only to be promptly silenced when the fearsome hospital head added lividly, " _And the blond brat next to her!_ " He paled.

"I think I speak for everyone here when I say that I've had enough of your disruptive, juvenile antics," Tsunade thundered furiously, her voice ringing out like a royal decree as her glare shot across the room at them with the force of a speeding missile. "I've seen preschoolers with chicken pox who were better behaved than you jokers! If you can't _shut up, sit still_ , and _listen_ , which you've proven you obviously can't _,_ then you can _leave_. By which I mean, get the HELL out of this room!"

Frozen in disbelief and humiliation, they sat stunned in their seats (well, Boruto only half in his seat) until she shouted, "I meant NOW! Move your asses!"

Tsunade's was a temper clearly not to be argued with, and Boruto and Sarada rose wordlessly, filing out with their heads down. Sarada caught a glimpse of her mother's face as she went—as a member of the current panel who was scheduled to speak shortly, Sakura was seated on stage facing the audience—and felt her shame mount at the pure shock written there. For her mother's sake, she hoped no one in the audience made the connection between the two Uchiha names.

As soon as the auditorium doors swung shut behind them, Sarada exploded at Boruto. "What is your _problem?!_ How _dare_ you make a scene like that? I've never been so embarrassed in my life!"

He immediately defended himself. "How dare _I_ make a scene? You're the one who _kicked over_ my chair!"

"Because you were sleeping in the middle of someone else's talk! Even for you, that's incredibly rude and disrespectful!"

"Not as rude and disrespectful as interrupting someone's talk with an unprovoked act of violence!"

"Please, _unprovoked?_ Keep it up and I'll show you what a _real_ act of violence looks like! I cannot believe you got us publicly humiliated like that. If someone filmed that on their phone and it ends up on YouTube or something, you're dead—"

"Oh, I hope it does, it's about time people got to know the real Sarada Uchiha you're always hiding behind your Little Miss Perfect act—"

They both broke off, faces so close together they could feel each other's hot breaths, as they suddenly noticed they still had an audience: a couple of student volunteers manning the conference registration table a few feet away, currently gaping at them.

Sarada gritted her teeth. Make that _two_ public humiliations in one morning.

"Perhaps we should take this discussion outside?"

The mild suggestion put in by Mitsuki made them both jump, as neither had realized he had followed them out of the room. Smiling pleasantly at them as if he hadn't just witnessed an enraged shouting match, he gently shepherded them through the lobby and out of the building.

The short walk and fresh air outside helped cool some of the heat between them, and by the time they stopped in front of the main entrance, the amount of killing intent present had decreased dramatically. Enough for Boruto to ignore Sarada as he turned to his roommate and said, more or less calmly if still in a tone verging on a growl, "Hey, Mitsuki, I appreciate the solidarity and all, but you didn't have to come out with us. That scary woman didn't kick _you_ out, and besides, you haven't even presented your stuff yet."

"Oh, I'll go back in later," Mitsuki assured him. "For now, I'm finding watching you two much more entertaining and enlightening than anything being said in there." He blinked serenely when his friend glared at him.

"Forget what I said about solidarity," Boruto grumbled. "You got me into this whole business just so you'd have more opportunities to laugh at me, didn't you?"

"Not at all," Mitsuki denied innocently, but the edge of clear amusement to his smile suggested that that had definitely been at the very least an unexpected bonus.

Boruto suddenly noticed that Sarada wasn't even trying to participate in the conversation anymore, and he looked around to see that she'd taken a seat on the stairs up to the entrance and was hunched over with her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. He exchanged alarmed looks with Mitsuki, rapidly transitioning from seething at her to berating himself internally. He couldn't deny that he took a certain amount of pleasure in riling up Sarada, but he'd never meant to go so far as to make her actually _cry_. He'd accused her earlier of playing Little Miss Perfect, but the fact was that she acted so tough and had been so daring with this plan of hers that he'd almost forgotten she was used to being the golden girl. Naturally she wouldn't be able to shrug off scoldings the way a lifelong troublemaker like him could by now.

Well, thanks to Himawari, at least it wasn't like he'd never comforted a crying girl before. He approached her hesitantly, dropping to a crouch on the step below her as he tried to peer up into her face.

"Sarada, hey, come on, it's not that bad," he coaxed. "Everyone in there will have forgotten about it in five minutes, and I'm sure your mom will forgive you…"

"Oh, shut up," she interrupted him shakily from behind her hands. "I'm not _crying_ , you idiot."

She then let out a noise that was, true to her word, clearly not crying but _laughter_ —a sharp, joyful burst of sound that seemed to rise up from somewhere deep inside. Boruto rocked back on his heels, shocked.

"Are...are you okay?" was all he could think to say.

"I'm fine," she said, calming sufficiently to lower her hands. "It's just...my life has become so ridiculous since we started all of this. It's only been a few weeks, but with all the absurd things I've been doing, it's like I'm not even the same person anymore."

"We," he corrected, not sure why he felt compelled to emphasize that, but he did. "All the absurd things _we've_ been doing. You haven't been pulling this off alone, you know."

"Believe me, I know," she assured him, giving him a strange look that he might have said was almost fond, if he hadn't known better. " _You're_ the reason we just got yelled at in public and kicked out of a conference, after all. The look on my mom's face...Tsunade's face...your face when she called you a 'blond brat'... _everyone's_ faces...it was just..." She shook her head, lost for words and still quivering as she fought off another wave of laughter.

When she noticed he was still watching her with some concern, and not even objecting to her putting all the blame on him this time, she snapped, "Relax, I was just _laughing_. I'm not going crazy or anything."

"That's what all the crazy people say," he observed, but he finally cracked a grin in return and chuckled ruefully. "My pranks have led to some pretty spectacular moments, but I have to admit, even for me that was a memorable one." _Mostly because I got Sarada Uchiha involved in it too,_ he thought to himself.

Reassured that she wasn't having a breakdown, he took a seat on the stairs next to her, Mitsuki joining them a moment later on her other side.

This three-person sitting formation brought on a rush of deja vu. "If you guys start that paper-throwing thing again…" she started to warn severely, but she couldn't even finish her own threat before she laughed again.

Boruto laughed too, nudging her shoulder lightly. "No way. Before I just got pushed out of my chair; this time I might get pushed down the stairs. And you know what would _really_ be embarrassing? Dying like that."

"You'd be unlikely to die," Mitsuki noted optimistically. "After all, there's a roomful of medical experts just two minutes away."

Sarada rolled her eyes, leaning back on the step with a little sigh. "Well, at least my mother has something concrete to report back to my father about us now. If that doesn't capture his interest, I don't know what will."

"See, you're starting to really get the hang of this whole prankster thing! Don't think of it as public humiliation, think of it as progress," Boruto advised, beaming proudly like she was his star student.

She granted him a dryly amused smile for that, but quickly switched it to a look threatening enough to rival Tsunade's glare. "You know that if I find out anyone uploaded a YouTube clip of us getting kicked out, you're still dead."

* * *

A/N: I think this chapter may have been my favourite to write so far—I'd been picturing this scenario for a while. I hope Sarada didn't seem OOC with her laughing fit, but I thought it was about time for her to let loose a little; she's been under quite a bit of stress with this plan, I think. (And even if it does seem OOC, it's hard to regret something that was just so much fun to write. Sorry I'm not sorry?)

Next time there should be a bit more actual plot movement. But only a bit, because I'm enjoying myself too much writing various ways for Boruto and Sarada to get into crazy situations together. Not gonna lie, my main aim in starting this story was to give myself opportunities to do just that!


	6. Chapter 6

Much love and many thanks to all of you out there who are reading and reviewing! Here's a little something that I hope will brighten your Monday. This chapter introduces a new friend, and also includes the obligatory drunk scene that no properly clichéd rom-com is complete without. Who's drunk, you ask? Read on to find out! (It's probably not that hard to guess, though.)

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

The following Friday night, Sarada did what she often did when her mood needed a boost: call her friend Chocho Akimichi. The two young women had met three years ago in an introductory-level business class and had promptly hit it off, and time spent outside of class working on group projects together had soon turned into time spent outside of class just hanging out. Chocho's laid-back attitude and straightforward reasoning provided a useful balance to Sarada's uptight manner and tendency to overthink things. (As a bonus, she was a passionate foodie who knew all the best places to eat in town, and she was always willing to drop everything to come help out a friend as long as there were snacks involved.)

Tonight, Sarada needed someone like that. She could have called Boruto, whose carefree approach to life had also proven to be remarkably effective at relaxing her, but he was too close to the problem: namely, their fake dating plan. It had started off so well, with both their fathers taking an interest right away, but it was no longer living up to that initial burst of promise. The last instance of paternal attention they'd received had been Naruto's reaction at Himawari's art exhibit, which Sarada still deemed lukewarm at best in intensity. Since then, nothing, despite her and Boruto's efforts to spend hours flaunting their acquaintance in public places. Even the medical conference incident last weekend had garnered no results, although Sarada was sure her mother must have informed her father of it by now. Even for someone as reticent as her dad, such complete silence was a little extreme; regardless of the whole Boruto aspect, he should have at least sent her a short email or something to reprimand her for publicly disgracing the Uchiha name.

As a result, her confidence and motivation were at an all-time low, and she was hoping that maybe a break from it all would bring new inspiration. A break along the lines of a girls' night in with Chocho, free of fake boyfriends and emotionally distant fathers.

Her friend was happy to oblige, and they settled on the couch in Sarada's apartment with a series of light movies lined up and a small feast of chips, candy, and a bottle of wine on her coffee table. After Sarada expertly dodged Chocho's questions about her rumoured new boyfriend until the other girl finally gave up on the subject, they spent a pleasant, very late night discussing the latest news on campus, complaining about their summer jobs, and making fun of bad film dialogue.

After finally calling it a night, they had just turned off the TV and were putting their snack bowls away in the kitchen when someone rapped sharply at the door.

"Who's that? Are you expecting someone?" Chocho asked, surprised.

"At 3 AM? No." Sarada frowned.

Her friend shrugged. "Then it's probably just some drunk guy who accidentally came to the wrong door in the building. Just leave it, he'll wander away."

A full minute later, however, it was clear that whoever it was had no intention of wandering away. The knocking was still going strong, tapping out a steady rhythm like the beat to some mid-tempo pop song.

The girls exchanged wary looks. "Let's check the peephole," Sarada decided.

Her friend made it to the door first and peered through the tiny circular window. "It's two guys. Kind of cute, actually. One's blond, the other one's hair is, like, pale blue…?"

"What?" That description could mean only one thing. Well, two things. Sarada flung open the door. "Boruto? _Mitsuki_?"

Sure enough, on her doorstep stood Mitsuki, smiling his ever-placid smile, and a clearly drunk Boruto, being held upright by his friend's arm around his waist.

"Hello, Sarada," Mitsuki greeted her pleasantly. "Sorry to disturb you."

Too shocked to glare, she just stared. "It's _3 AM._ What are you doing here?"

"Well, we were at a party, and as you can see, Boruto became…"

"Totally wasted?" she broke in, eyeing the blond with faint distaste. Boruto was swaying, flushed, and mumbling incoherently.

"Indeed. I thought it would be best for us to leave the party at that point, but Boruto had lost his wallet, and I discovered that I had no money on me. With Boruto in this state, we couldn't walk all the way back to our apartment, but I remembered that yours was closer."

Sarada had several questions about that weak excuse of a story—for example, where were their _phones_ in this equation?—but a different inquiry seemed more pressing. "How do you even know where I live? And how did you get the security code to my building?"

"You aren't the only one who can do research," Mitsuki informed her, his guileless smile turning slightly devious. "Boruto is my friend. Of course I had to investigate his new girlfriend."

Okay then. Had _her_ research been that creepy and invasive?

With an irritated sigh, she stepped aside. " _Fine_ , come in and dump him on the couch while I call you a cab. I'll lend you the money to get home."

Chocho, who had watched this exchange with wide, intrigued eyes, chirped, "Oh, this is Boruto Uzumaki? Naruto Uzumaki's son and your new boytoy?"

"He's not my…" Sarada began, then trailed off, realizing that he kind of _was,_ as far as appearances went anyway. "Yes, that's him, although this is hardly his best look. And the one who's _not_ a drunken idiot is Mitsuki, his roommate."

"Oh, you have company?" Mitsuki looked as interested in Chocho as she did in him, smiling at her as he hauled Boruto over to the sofa and settled him there with a gentleness that Sarada might have found touching if she hadn't been so annoyed.

"Yes, I do, which is one of the reasons why you're supposed to _call_ before coming over and banging on someone's door in the middle of the night. Or better yet, don't call and don't come either," Sarada said tartly. "This is my friend Chocho."

"Hi there," Chocho said, adapting easily to the intrusion. "Do you want some snacks? I think there are some chips left."

"Oh, no, we're fine, thank you," Mitsuki refused politely, but he beamed at her friendliness.

"Don't offer them food, Chocho," Sarada said sternly. "We are not rewarding this irresponsible behaviour. Besides, they'll be leaving as soon as I call the taxi. They're not joining our sleepover."

"Aw, why not?" Chocho pouted. "Anyway, it looks like your boy Boruto has already progressed to the 'sleep' part of the sleepover."

Sarada was having none of that. She marched over to the dozing Boruto and shook his shoulder roughly. "Wake up, idiot. You're not sleeping here."

He jerked awake and sat up quite willingly, but he used her arm as leverage to do so and managed to drag her down onto the couch in the process. She fell half on top of him, pushing him away with a yelp.

"Oh, Sarada," he said groggily, blinking at her. "Thought you were Mitsuki. You're prettier, though." When Mitsuki helped nudge him into a straighter sitting position on the couch, he shifted his half-conscious attention to his roommate and slurred, "Not that you aren't pretty, Mitsuki. You guys're both pretty. And awesome. I love you guys, ya know?"

"Thank you," Mitsuki said, straight-faced and apparently sincere.

"Aww, so cute, he's obviously an affectionate drunk," Chocho cooed, laughing.

Sarada was unamused, and embarrassed by the way she'd almost been straddling him a moment ago. "He's a _stupid_ drunk, like all drunks. And he's not staying." She stalked off to fetch her cell phone.

Chocho followed her. "Come on, Sarada, why don't you just let them stay? It's just one night, and that poor guy Mitsuki—who is pretty hot, by the way, is he single?—already dragged your boyfriend all the way here. Morning's not that far off anyway, you might as well let them sleep it off until then."

Ignoring the comment about Mitsuki and hoping for her friend's sake that he hadn't overheard it—not that Chocho was the type to be embarrassed by things like that—Sarada folded her arms over her chest, suspicious. "Why are you so invested in them spending the night?"

"What? So I'm curious about my best friend's new boyfriend, is that such a crime? You've been awfully secretive about him," Chocho accused her, putting her hands on her hips.

Sarada sighed and gave in. She supposed there was no real reason to conceal the truth; Chocho could be a bit of a gossip, but she was a good friend, and Sarada knew she could trust her to keep an important secret.

Chocho promptly burst out laughing upon hearing a quick explanation of the true situation. "No way, you're kidding!"

When Sarada was silent, the other girl subsided and shook her head, incredulous. "Wow, what, _really_? That sounds like something _I_ might consider doing, but definitely not something _you_ would do."

"Well, it's not like anything I've ever done or been has succeeded in getting my father's attention," Sarada pointed out, "so I figured maybe I needed to do something that was a little less me."

"This is so great. It's like a rom-com come to life," Chocho gushed gleefully, missing the undercurrent of bitterness in her friend's tone. "But that's all the more reason to let them sleep over, then! It's what a real girlfriend would do. Your boyfriend, your responsibility, right?"

"He's an adult; he's his own responsibility," Sarada muttered, but Chocho had a point. A lot of students who knew both her and Boruto lived around here; it wouldn't do for people to see her kicking out her pitiful, incapacitated "boyfriend."

As Chocho looked on with barely restrained giggles, she stomped to her closet, dragging her extra blankets and pillows out of it, then stomped back out to the living room and dumped her load on the floor next to Mitsuki.

"I don't have an air mattress or anything, so you're going to have to sleep on the floor and make do with these blankets," she told him unapologetically. "Or you can just dump Boruto on the floor and take the couch instead of him. He'd deserve it."

Mitsuki's lips curved up. He had the audacity to not even look mildly surprised, like he'd expected her to cave all along. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You can thank me by never pulling something like this again. Also, I like that couch. If he throws up on it, I will make you both pay, slowly and painfully." She glared at him to drive her point home, then glared at Boruto too for good measure even though he wasn't awake to see it. "Now go to sleep."

Mitsuki nodded obediently. "Good night, Sarada."

She had fully planned to snub him by walking away without a reply, but then Boruto let out a half-grunting, half-snoring sound and rolled over on the couch, one hand flopping off the edge. Entirely against her will, she found herself softening. He just looked so...helpless, all sprawled out and boneless like that, hair drooping over his forehead, dark eyelashes casting a faint shadow just above his rosy cheeks.

Sarada sighed, long and deep. Boyfriends, even (or especially) fake ones, were more trouble than they were worth. "Good night."

* * *

When he opened his eyes, Boruto immediately knew he'd hit the liquor a little too hard last night. He'd been blessed with a tendency to escape the worst of hangovers, such as crippling headaches and projectile vomiting, but after three years of university parties he recognized the signs of overindulgence: ultra-dry mouth, general bleariness, thoughts moving at approximately the speed of molasses. Oh, and the timeless classic: not recognizing where you woke up.

"What the…" he mumbled, struggling into a sitting position. This was definitely not his couch, or his wall, or his TV. Unless his blackout had lasted long enough for Mitsuki to get the whole apartment redone while he was out. Knowing the odd whims Mitsuki was prone to, that possibility wasn't totally off the table.

Where was Mitsuki, for that matter? He was pretty sure he remembered the two of them going out together, and despite all his roommate's eccentricities, the guy was not a big drinker himself, in addition to usually being pretty good about not ditching his companions in strange places when they were drunk and defenseless.

Boruto got to his feet, holding onto the back of the couch for a moment to stabilize himself, and managed to walk a passably straight line into the next room. He was reassured to find Mitsuki there, only to be bewildered all over again when he also found Sarada and someone else he didn't recognize, a curvy girl with cocoa-coloured skin and two orange ponytails.

The three of them together made quite the peaceful domestic scene. Mitsuki was sitting to the left of the unknown girl at a small square table, talking animatedly to her (well, animated for Mitsuki) over their cereal bowls, while Sarada was seated on her right with legs neatly crossed, a mug of coffee raised to her lips. She was eyeing the other two with a kind of indulgent, curious amusement, like a mother watching her two problem children get along for once. It was...very odd. Not to mention he still didn't know where he was, and this little kitchenette/dining area was no more familiar to him than the other room had been. Did hangovers ever cause hallucinations?

"Did all the alcohol kill off so many brain cells you can't remember how to say good morning like a civilized houseguest?" Sarada asked calmly, her gaze suddenly darting to him, so piercing he flinched.

"No-oo," he said slowly, drawing out the word in confusion. "Houseguest? I mean—good morning?"

"We're in Sarada's apartment," Mitsuki explained, taking pity on him. "We had no money for a cab home last night and her place was closer, so I brought you here."

Boruto nodded cautiously. His roommate's slyly contented smile made him suspect there were ulterior motives at the heart of that innocent story, and he wondered how Mitsuki even knew where she lived. But since the sharp Uchiha wasn't jumping on that point immediately, he assumed they must have been over it last night, and a classic Sarada tongue-lashing had probably been involved. No need to go through that again; Mitsuki could brief him later.

"There's coffee and cereal if you want it," the girl he didn't recognize spoke up, waving her spoon at the counter. "I'm Chocho, by the way. Sarada's friend. You crashed our sleepover last night." She didn't sound particularly upset about it, at least.

"Oh, hi." He grinned charmingly at her to show his appreciation for her forgiveness, crossing over to the coffeemaker with only minimal staggering. "Sorry for crashing. And anything else I did that I should be sorry for. What _did_ I do? Did I, um, say anything?"

He had it on good authority that he tended to babble rather embarrassingly when he was under the influence. Mitsuki always took whatever he said in stride no matter how ridiculous or inappropriate it was, but he hoped he hadn't mortally offended Sarada or anything.

There was a pause, and then Chocho piped up helpfully, "You told Sarada you love her."

Boruto choked on his coffee, nearly spitting the mouthful he'd just taken right back into his mug. That was so much worse than anything he'd imagined!

Sarada rolled her eyes, although there was a faint tinge of pink to her cheeks. "Chocho, he did _not_ say that. Actually, you just said 'I love you guys' to both me _and_ Mitsuki. And maybe you were including Chocho too—who even knows what you were thinking at that level of intoxication?"

He sighed in relief, managing to swallow his coffee.

"You also said Sarada was prettier than me," Mitsuki added blandly.

"Oh, well, sorry?" he offered awkwardly, not sure which one of them he was apologizing to. Definitely embarrassing, but hey, he'd said worse.

"Is this something I should get used to?" Sarada asked dryly. "You stumbling in completely hammered in the middle of the night and waking up with no memory of your actions, I mean. Am I dating a budding alcoholic?"

"What? No. You're just dating a guy who likes to have fun on Friday nights!" Boruto protested as he took the remaining seat at the table. "You should try it too. Next time, come out with me. It would definitely be way more fun than some lame sleepover where you paint your nails and watch _High School Musical_ or whatever." Suddenly remembering Chocho was there, he looked at her sheepishly. "Uh, no offense."

"No, I agree," the orange-haired girl put in with an emphatic nod. "I'm always telling Sarada she needs to loosen up and let her wild side run free once in a while. Go out, get drunk, and hook up, girl! Although I guess you've got the hooking up part taken care of at least, with your boyfriend here."

Boruto chuckled nervously and shifted uneasily, not sure how to react without knowing if Sarada had told her friend the truth.

" _Chocho_ , seriously." Shooting the other woman a quelling look, Sarada informed him, "She knows."

"What? You told me you two weren't really dating, not that you weren't hooking up," Chocho pointed out as she crunched through a mouthful of cereal. "If you think those two things are the same, then you need to get out and loosen up even more than I thought."

"Well, I'm telling you now," Sarada said firmly. "We are _not_ hooking up."

Ignoring her, Chocho turned to Boruto, pointing her spoon at him authoritatively. He flinched away from it apprehensively. "Boruto. It's your duty as a fake boyfriend to teach this girl how to have fun," she ordered. "Right, Mitsuki?"

"Of course," Mitsuki supported her solemnly. Boruto kicked him under the table.

Sarada stood to put her mug in the sink, scowling at the exchange. "And you wonder why I was reluctant to let them spend the night?"

Boruto rose and joined her, touching her arm to get her to look over at him. It _had_ been pretty nice of her to let them crash at her place on zero notice. He put on his most sincere face. "Hey, Sarada, seriously, I'm sorry about this. I didn't mean to disturb your sleepover and your Saturday morning. Let me make it up to you?"

She propped an elbow on the counter and looked him up and down, her eyes taking on a calculating gleam. He gulped, suddenly worried. Maybe he shouldn't have made that offer…

"All right then, make it up to me," she challenged him. "Come visit me at the office on Monday morning."

He relaxed. That didn't seem too extreme. He'd have to ask for a short break from his mailroom job, but he could just make up a medical appointment or something. "Uh, sure, but why?"

"My father will be there."

"Oh, shit." He'd been dreading this day since he'd first agreed to her plan.

Her eyes narrowed at his obvious dismay. "You said you'd make it up to me."

"I know!" he groaned. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it, I said 'oh, shit.'"

She nodded, looking reasonably satisfied with that, and offered an unexpected explanation. "I wouldn't be asking this right now if I didn't think it was necessary to resort to more drastic measures. The fact is, we haven't been making any progress recently. If anything, my father seems _less_ interested in my life than usual."

She turned away from him to rinse out her mug, but not before he saw what looked like genuine hurt cross her face. It made something cold and unpleasant settle inside his stomach. He'd seen her angry and annoyed—in fact he was was willing to admit to himself that those moments when he was able to get her fired up were starting to become some of the high points of his days—but he'd never really seen her sad. There was no fun in that.

Clearing his throat and searching for a way to distract her, he went with, "Okay, so how do you want me to act in front of him?"

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I wasn't aware I had a set of options to choose from."

"Well, what kind of impression do you want me to give? Should I be on my best behaviour? Turn on the charm? Or maybe act unbelievably rude so he'll hate me even more?" He kind of hoped she wouldn't choose that last option, even if he did have insubordinate sass down to an art. He still harboured secret fears of being smothered in his sleep by an assassin hired by Sasuke Uchiha.

She stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable. "I appreciate your...versatility," she said finally, "but just be yourself. I don't think anything else will bother him more."

He thought this over for a second, then turned to Mitsuki and Chocho to ask, "Did she just insult me or pay me a compliment?"

"Insult," Mitsuki replied promptly, at the same time as Chocho said, "Compliment."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought too." He smirked at the exasperated look Sarada was giving him.

"You're ridiculous," she informed him, but a smile played around her lips. He was relieved to see no trace of her earlier dejection. "I'll see you Monday at the office then?"

"It's a date," Boruto confirmed. "Well, a fake one."

* * *

A/N: Remember to drink responsibly, guys! When it comes to alcohol consumption, be a Sarada, not a Boruto (and try to bring a loyal Mitsuki with you who can drag you to safety just in case). But anyway, this was another really fun chapter to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for reading, and until next time :)


	7. Chapter 7

I was thrilled this week to see that this fic now has over 50 reviews and favourites. Thank you so much, everyone!

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CHAPTER 7

At almost half past ten on Monday morning, Sarada led Boruto to the break room at the Uchiha Corporation headquarters, ignoring the unabashed stares they were getting from passersby in the hallway. The blue-eyed blond was immediately recognizable as Naruto Uzumaki's son, and her colleagues probably wondered if he was there to try to use her to steal company secrets for his father or something. Sarada disliked the idea of having her professional integrity questioned—or Boruto's, for that matter—but she could deal with it for the sake of the plan. If other employees brought concerned reports to her father, so much the better.

"He always takes a coffee break between ten-thirty and ten-forty-five," she informed her partner in crime as she let him into the spacious lounge, furnished with elegant velvet couches, wooden dining tables, and an assortment of fridges and beverage machines. "He should be here soon."

"Are you sure he won't just send one of his minions here to fetch coffee for him?" Boruto inquired, heading for an open box of donuts perched tantalizingly on one of the counters at the back. Figuring that he was going to need sustenance to get through this (and maybe the energy of a sugar rush to run for his life), he snagged one and hopped up on the counter to sit next to the box.

"Minions?" Sarada repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I take it you mean 'employees'?"

"Uh, yeah, whatever they're calling them these days," Boruto amended hastily, not wanting her to think he was insulting her dad (even though truthfully Sasuke Uchiha had always seemed like a "minions" kind of guy to him).

She just shook her head, judging Boruto's questionable choice of vocabulary a subject not worth pursuing right now. "No, he always comes himself unless he's in a meeting, which he isn't today. I think it gives him a chance to stretch his legs."

"Right." Boruto chewed absently on the donut. "So, you planning on having him catch us making out in here, or what?"

He'd thrown that out there in a playful, jeering tone meant to get a rise out of her, but when she didn't immediately snap back, he looked up to find her watching him intently from the opposite counter, arms crossed over her chest. Then she took a few brisk, steady steps forward, until she was standing practically between his legs, less than a foot of space between them. She didn't seem to be making a move to actually touch him, and her expression was flat and unreadable, but she was close enough for him to see every dark eyelash behind her lenses, every moist line in her lips.

Was it possible he had underestimated the lengths she was willing to go to, right here, right now? He swallowed and licked his own lips nervously.

"I may be desperate," she said suddenly, her voice startlingly loud up close like this, "but I'm not _that_ desperate. Also, you have donut crumbs on your face."

With that parting shot, she promptly stepped away again, smirking slightly as she left him to rub his hand over his mouth and chin. He exhaled and silently ordered his heartbeat to slow down. He was undeniably relieved that she hadn't actually wanted to make out—but slightly troubled to find that it wasn't because he objected to the idea of making out with Sarada in general. What he'd felt when she'd gotten in his space like that hadn't been repulsion, not by a long shot. No, it seemed more like he was relieved because making out with her like _this_ would be awkward, unsatisfying, wrong. Because it would be fake. But no more fake than most of their other recent interactions, he reminded himself. Somehow the thought depressed him.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because a quiet sound made them both look to the doorway, which now framed a tall, imposing man in a suit as black as his jaggedly cut hair.

Although Sarada was already standing with her customary good posture, she straightened like a soldier greeting a commanding officer. "Dad," she said, trying to sound normal, even though she was having trouble remembering what normal was. She resisted the urge to wipe her suddenly sweaty palms on her pants, knowing her father had an eagle eye for such signs of weakness.

Sasuke nodded at her, a common style of greeting for him, but his eyes were already fixed on Boruto and narrowing sharply. The blond young man appeared to be frozen in place in his seat on the counter, the hand he'd been using to wipe his face still raised.

"Boruto," Sasuke said finally, the word reverberating through the room. His deep voice was completely toneless.

That was enough to jolt the Uzumaki into sliding off the counter and moving to stand next to Sarada. He grinned nervously. "Hey, Mr. Uchiha."

The two of them stood by apprehensively as the older man walked smoothly across the room to the coffeemaker. Silently, he selected a clean mug and poured the dark liquid into it, taking his time. Sarada was beginning to wonder if he might just walk right back out without saying anything more when he suddenly asked, with his back still turned to them, "Sarada. Are you on an authorized break right now?"

 _Imperfection and disobedience,_ she reminded herself. "Not technically," she admitted, "but Boruto stopped by and I was just saying hello."

He turned to face them again, face cold and impassive. "I see. As by now you must have had time to say one two-syllable word to him, I suggest you get back to work." The words were cutting, but there was no strong emotion there, no spark of real heat that she could detect. Sarada clenched her fists. She'd seen him show more feeling while reprimanding a secretary for making a typo in an email.

Boruto still felt that the rebuke called for some sort of defense. "She didn't do anything wrong," he put in bravely. Unexpectedly, he threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. Somewhat stunned, she nonetheless forced herself to relax into him. "It was me. I, um, wanted to see Sarada, so I just...dropped by."

"No." She promptly shut down the attempt at chivalry, her eyes flashing at her father. She could do cold and cutting too. "I _asked_ him to come visit me."

Sasuke's stony expression didn't even flicker. "Then I assume you can ask him to leave as well, and save me the trouble. I have work to do." And that was all the goodbye he offered as he strode out of the room with his coffee.

There were a few beats of silence, and then Boruto released her and announced cheerily, "Well, that was actually a lot less painful than I thought it would be!"

Sarada didn't respond. For her, there were few things more painful than the realization that even flaunting her relationship with his worst enemy's son at work wasn't enough to make her father take a real interest in her. He'd treated her like a slacking employee, not a daughter—an employee he couldn't be bothered to properly dress down, even. He hadn't demanded an explanation, kicked Boruto out on the spot, or threatened either of them with any actual consequences. He hadn't even _glared._

Boruto had picked up on the fact that she disagreed with his positive assessment of the situation. "I guess you were hoping for a little more drama, huh?" he said, adding jokingly, "Maybe we should've gone for the makeout strategy after all."

She couldn't deal with his playfulness right now. "Boruto, just go," she snapped, then regretted it. It wasn't his fault her father didn't give a damn, and he'd even gone above and beyond with that arm around the shoulders. "Thank you for coming," she said more calmly, struggling to keep her tone civil. "You're free to go now—I know you had to skip work for this."

Afraid of what her face might reveal, she turned away from him abruptly, moving to stand in front of the large window at the very back of the room. She braced herself on the windowsill, hands digging in to the point of pain, and stared unseeingly at the view of the cityscape outside, blinking hard.

Boruto watched her back, the tension evident in her shoulders. He knew he should go—she'd dismissed him, after all, fairly politely even—but it somehow felt wrong to leave her like this, all alone in a big room after what was evidently a letdown for her. "Sarada…" he began hesitantly.

"What?" she replied coldly. "We're done here." The finality in the words had a force to it that suggested she was talking about more than just this one encounter.

He was distracted by the appearance of a couple of strangers at the doorway, probably other employees here to take a break. He knew that if anyone else joined them, there went any chance of having a serious conversation, so in a flash he was at the door, blocking their entrance. "Sorry, guys, important meeting going on in here right now," he blurted. "Come back later, all right?"

One of the newcomers scowled at him. "An important meeting? In the break room? You don't even work here!"

"Just give us five minutes, okay?" He shot them a dazzling grin before promptly shutting the door in their faces and turning the lock.

When he returned to Sarada, she was staring at him in disbelief. "Boruto! Those were department directors."

He shrugged. "So? As that guy pointed out, I don't work here, so it's not like I take orders from them. And they're obviously not going to fire _you_ ; you're the boss's daughter."

She frowned. "I don't like using that to my advantage. It's unethical."

"Relax, you're keeping two guys from coffee and donuts for five minutes, not committing fraud or anything. Now, what's with you?"

"Nothing." She turned away again.

"Then why do you look like Christmas has been cancelled forever?"

Too upset to be sidetracked by the ridiculous analogy, she said stiffly, "You saw what just happened."

"Well, from your reaction, obviously I didn't see the same thing as you did."

He cringed when she whirled on him—he didn't see how that statement was particularly offensive, but she was clearly in a touchy mood right now. It soon became apparent, however, that her frustration wasn't directed at him.

"You saw that he didn't care! He couldn't be bothered to stay for two minutes to question me, or make sure you left, or _anything._ He just doesn't care, and nothing I do will change that." She was breathing hard, and her eyes held the dangerous sheen of forthcoming angry tears.

It was becoming clear that Sarada wasn't in this just for revenge, as she had somewhat led him to believe, or at least "revenge" wasn't the most suitable term. She wasn't trying to piss off her father just for the sake of pissing him off; she was trying to piss him off so she'd have tangible proof that she was important to him. Boruto watched her, feeling a wave of compassion and understanding—he knew what it was to feel like you ranked pretty low on your father's list of priorities.

"Sarada," he tried, "I really wish I could tell you something that would be, you know, meaningful and sensitive and whatever, but the truth is I don't even know what to say to _myself_ when it comes to stuff like this."

"You can just say what you should have told me from the start: that I was crazy to think this would ever work. No, not just crazy; childish, petty, deluded, and _stupid_ ," she spat bitterly, sounding disgusted with herself. "No wonder my father doesn't think I'm worth his time."

Before he'd really registered what he was doing, Boruto found himself moving up to her, invading her space much as she had invaded his less than fifteen minutes ago, and grabbing her by the shoulders, gently but firmly.

"Sarada, I would never say that to you," he said urgently, anxious to make her understand. "You know why? Because I would never _think_ that about you. Look at yourself: you're smart, you're driven, and you've got a lot of guts. _That's_ how people see you. If your dad doesn't see that too, he's the one who's crazy. With pretty much everything you've ever done, you're practically the ideal daughter. I mean, let's be honest: my parents would trade me in for you any day."

His eyes were even brighter than usual in their intensity. It was his hair that Sarada had (accidentally) complimented, but she had always privately found his eyes to be his most appealing physical feature. Their warmth was especially reassuring and refreshing now, after the impenetrable coldness of her father's gaze. She gulped and groped for control, feeling the rush of anguish start to recede in the face of his earnestness.

"No, they wouldn't," she said quietly, with certainty.

He blinked, momentarily surprised, then agreed with a sound that was half-sigh, half-chuckle, "No, I guess they wouldn't. And I really doubt that your parents would trade you in for anyone or anything else either—your mom _or_ your dad." He paused. "Well, maybe our dads would consider it for like a second. I'm pretty sure I saw regret at my birth flash in my dad's eyes right after that whole cafeteria incident in the ninth grade. But," he added hastily, "we both know our moms would kick their asses for even thinking it, so we're good."

She couldn't help the surprised huff of amusement that escaped her at that. If Boruto was capable of being serious for more than five minutes at a time, she had seen precious little evidence of it. Still...it was a kind of gift, she supposed, to be able to turn something that made you angry and hurt into something that made people laugh. A gift that could do her some good. That had _already_ done her some good, just now.

"Boruto...you…" she trailed off, not even sure what she wanted to convey. There was gratitude there, definitely, but not just gratitude; also a kind of respect and simple appreciation, appreciation for the fact that he was who he was. Still, she was forced to settle for a plain, "Thank you."

He let her go, the pressure lifting from her shoulders, smiling a bit embarrassedly. "Sure. So, um, what now?"

She leaned back against the counter, relaxing for the first time that morning, her mind finally able to clear and get back to business. "While I appreciate what you said, I still think we have to conclude that this plan isn't having the desired effect."

"It started off so well, though," he protested.

"We thought it did, but obviously we were wrong."

He sighed loudly, looking out the window at the fluffy white clouds decorating the sky. Suddenly he straightened as a thought struck him.

"You know, I told Shikadai about the plan," he said, then stopped, waiting to see if she'd rip into him for unnecessarily sharing the secret. But his earlier speech had earned him leniency, and she just gestured for him to continue. "What he told me, almost right away, was that he was sure our dads would see through it. And he's supposed to be a genius, right?"

Sarada made the connection rapidly. "You're saying that you think they figured it out? And they've been ignoring us on purpose so we'd think it wasn't working and give up?" She considered it, adjusting her glasses. "It might explain why your dad's reaction at the art show was so...uninspired."

"Now that I think about it, I highly doubt he could have showed that kind of restraint if he hadn't planned it beforehand," Boruto agreed. "Believe me, it does not come naturally."

Sarada wasn't opposed to entertaining an explanation that suggested that her father was only _acting_ like he didn't care about her. But, even if was true, she did feel a little discouraged that their scheme had been such a failure. "It could make sense, I suppose. But either way, that's the end of our plan."

"Maybe not!" Boruto exclaimed, to her surprise. "Look, only Mitsuki, Shikadai, and Chocho know the truth, and none of them would tell, right? So our dads might have a theory, but there's no way they know _for sure._ If we can just supply enough evidence to make them doubt that theory…"

"Supplying that kind of evidence is what we've been trying to do for almost a month already, and apparently it didn't fool them," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but we've been keeping it pretty low-key, haven't we? Since we didn't want to make it look fake by acting too extreme or anything. Maybe we've been playing it a bit _too_ casual. And next week would be a good time to try something more definite and high-profile, something our dads can't dismiss. At the Business Awards Gala, I mean, like you originally planned."

Sarada hesitated. On the one hand, Boruto's words were starting to give her hope again; on the other hand, she wasn't sure that hope was trustworthy. How many times was she really willing to go through this sad cycle of trying and failing to gain her father's attention?

Sensing that she was tempted, Boruto pushed harder. "Like you said, we've already spent almost a month on this plan. Are we really going to let all that effort go to waste without one last try? I say if we go out, we go out with a bang." Suddenly he flushed. "Uh, I know I used the word 'bang,' but I swear I wasn't going for a double entendre or anything. It was just an expression!"

She rolled her eyes, but all innuendo aside, he had a point. The Gala had always been the intended climax of this operation, and they were so close to it now, they might as well reach that peak before turning back. She'd have to brace herself for another disappointment, but however it went, she'd be no worse off with her father than before.

"...Fine. The Gala will be our next target then—our _last_ target, if this still doesn't work."

Boruto grinned at his success. "We got this, Sarada. You'll see."

She wasn't so sure anymore. But regardless of the results of the plan, the side effect of hanging out with Boruto wasn't so bad, she supposed.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I know some of you were excited for the Boruto/Sasuke confrontation, and I realize it might have been a bit anticlimactic, but given his awareness of the plan, I didn't think it would work to write a Sasuke blow-up; he knows that would be playing right into their hands. If you're impatient for a little more action, just hang on until the next chapter, which will cover the long-awaited Gala—sure to be an eventful night :)


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback! I'm happy to offer you an extra-long chapter this time, since I wanted to get the whole Gala in :)

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CHAPTER 8

"BORUTO!" Naruto hollered up the stairs. "Get down here! We needed to leave five minutes ago!"

On the night of the Konoha Business Awards Gala, it was customary for the Uzumakis to gather for a family dinner and then head out to the event together. This year a late-running meeting had forced Naruto to skip the dinner, but he'd still rushed home in time to pick up his wife and children.

Surprised by the shout, his daughter looked up from where she stood in the hallway, slipping on black kitten heels. "He's not home, Dad."

He gaped at her. "Not home?! What do you mean, not home? Does he think he can just not show up tonight? I thought he learned his lesson the last time he tried to do that!"

"Don't worry, Naruto," Hinata soothed, joining him clad in a lovely lavender evening dress. "He called earlier and said he'd meet us there."

"And we believe him?" her husband said doubtfully. At her mildly reproving look, he laughed sheepishly and amended that to, "I mean, of course we believe him!"

Loyal as she was to her big brother, Himawari couldn't exactly blame her father for his lack of faith. Over the years, Boruto's attempts to avoid the Gala had become legendary in their creativity (although she suspected he only went to such extravagant lengths because he'd noticed how much of a reaction it elicited from Naruto). But oddly enough, that was precisely why she felt this year was different.

"I think we can trust him this time," she piped up. "If he was actually trying to get out of it, he'd come up with a way more complicated strategy than just pretending he'd meet us there and then not showing up."

Naruto looked slightly appeased. "Fine, all right then, let's go! It's his loss not to get to walk in with the two most beautiful ladies in the room."

Himawari smiled to herself as she followed her father's characteristically bouncing step out the door. If she wasn't mistaken, her brother would be making an entrance with a different beautiful lady next to him tonight.

* * *

"Sarada's late," Sakura remarked quietly, glancing at the entrance and anxiously twisting her fingers in the silky skirt of her pale green dress, a flattering high-neck, low-back piece that brought out her eyes.

Sasuke said nothing, but his attention was pointed in the same direction, and his hand was clenched around his wine glass slightly more tightly than necessary. He'd noticed it too. They had no reason not to trust that Sarada would keep her word about making it to the Gala on her own, but she was normally very punctual, and it was now almost a half-hour past the event's official start time. The award presentations would start soon, and all the usual suspects were already here: among others, Neji and Hanabi of the prominent Hyuuga business family with their respective partners; energetic entrepreneur Maito Gai and his protege Rock Lee, both dressed in suits an arresting shade of forest green that Sasuke wouldn't be caught dead in; Naruto's right-hand man Shikamaru Nara looking half-asleep as usual with his wife and spitting image of a son; fashion CEO Ino Yamanaka with her own husband and son; and of course the Uzumakis in their cozy family unit. But an _incomplete_ family unit, Sasuke suddenly observed, feeling a chill of apprehension run down his spine. Boruto wasn't with them.

As if sensing that he was being watched, Naruto's gaze snapped up and locked onto Sasuke's. The Uchiha saw his rival's eyes flicker from him to Sakura and back, and knew that Naruto had spotted Sarada's absence and was wondering about its significance in exactly the same way he was. It annoyed him that Naruto, of all people, would be the only one to understand what he was feeling right now.

Well, that was the price he paid for not sharing the knowledge of Boruto and Sarada's little scheme with anyone else, he supposed. He hadn't wanted to bother Sakura with it, partly because he genuinely didn't want to cause her any further Sarada-related worry and partly because he was well aware that _he_ was the parent Sarada was lashing out at with this trick. Somehow, he felt as if this was something to be settled between him and her, if it went far enough to require settling. Sakura was an expert by now at smoothing things over between father and daughter, but her interventions were generally of the calmly-set-aside-conflict kind, not the full-blown-hostile-confrontation variety. And considering how much desperation and absurdity Sarada's plan smacked of, he suspected that she was reaching the point where she wouldn't be satisfied without a confrontation. To be honest, he wasn't sure he would be, either. Much as he despised heart-to-hearts, especially with people whose feelings he actually cared about hurting, maybe it was about time he had it out with his daughter. At the very least it would hopefully keep her from running around with Naruto's younger clone. Even knowing their relationship was fake, he still didn't _like_ it.

A sharp intake of breath from Sakura next to him jerked his attention back to the entrance to the ballroom. A young couple was coming through the doors, not one he remembered seeing at the event in past years; some new up-and-coming entrepreneurs, perhaps. The man, looking sophisticated in a standard black suit and tie, was lean and fairly tall, with his blond hair carefully parted and combed over. The young woman at his side with one slender, pale arm through his had short dark hair that had been curled at the ends, twisted black tresses caressing her chin and neck, and was clad in a beautiful, eye-catching ensemble of black high heels, off-the-shoulders red dress, and unique red-rimmed glasses. Glasses that Sasuke realized with a jolt were very familiar.

"Sarada!" Sakura breathed. And indeed it was she.

Red had always been Sarada's colour—it brought out the rich undertones in her fair skin and boldly set off her jet-black hair and eyes, and at any given time about half of her wardrobe consisted of shades of it—but the red of her dress tonight was in a league of its own. It was a very deep red, somewhere between crimson and almost burgundy, and it gave her every movement a regal air. If Sasuke occasionally forgot that his daughter was all grown up, this dress shattered any illusions of her still being a little girl with all the delicacy of a punch to the jaw.

And if the woman in red was Sarada, that meant the blond man beside her must be…

" _Boruto?!"_ Naruto's startled shout, coming several moments after Sakura and Sasuke's revelation, easily carried across the large room. Without that distinctive spiky formation to his hair, the younger Uzumaki wasn't nearly as immediately recognizable as usual.

Sasuke told himself he should have been expecting this. It was all just part of Sarada's plan, of course. But as he stared at his daughter and her date, his shock stubbornly lingering as they entered arm in arm, walking as one with their strides smooth and coordinated, he felt a sharp blade of doubt abruptly pierce through his shield of certainty.

* * *

"Good news: I think my dad's brain is about to explode," Boruto reported in a satisfied whisper, tilting his head down so his lips were nearly brushing her hair.

Sarada found the sensation of his breath on her ear rather distracting, but still managed to hiss back in warning, "Stop looking at him. You're going to give us away." Nonetheless, she couldn't help but dart a lightning-fast glance at her own father, even though he was too far away in the ballroom for her to make out the details of his expression.

"Yeah, yeah," Boruto muttered under his breath, but his smugness returned as he added, "So are we making an entrance or what?"

They certainly were. Sarada wasn't quite as comfortable with being the centre of attention as Boruto was, but she had recognized the need for it for the sake of their plan, and they were definitely pulling it off. They had arrived late to the Gala on purpose to put on a show for the already assembled guests, and they were now being greeted with wide-eyed stares and a frenzy of speculative murmurs. Everyone here was well-acquainted with the Uchiha-Uzumaki feud and knew the faces of its heirs, so it was no doubt a shock for most of them to see Boruto Uzumaki and Sarada Uchiha walk in arm in arm like the best of friends—like _more_ than friends.

"Boruto, Sarada, looking good," Shikadai drawled as he ambled up to them with his hands in his pockets, accompanied by his friend Inojin, Ino Yamanaka's son and another long-time acquaintance of theirs.

"You both clean up nicely," Inojin agreed, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks," Sarada and Boruto replied at the same time, then exchanged glances. Sarada had to admit that she couldn't deny it in Boruto's case. He was filling out his suit admirably, the sleek cut showing off his lean, sturdy physique, and the vivid flash of his blond hair made for an effective contrast with the sedate black of his jacket, pants, and tie. He looked professional and elegant, but still warm, still approachable, still Boruto.

"Well, aren't you two in sync tonight." Shikadai's dry comment came with a smirk that had a knowing quality to it, and Sarada remembered that he was in on their scheme.

She felt Boruto tense next to her and just knew he was about to do something juvenile like stick out his tongue at the Nara, and thus ruin the gravity of their entrance. She squeezed his arm to pre-empt him, shooting Shikadai a sweet smile with just a touch of danger to it. "Why, yes, we are, thank you."

Shikadai inclined his head in amused surrender, restraining his commentary to a more innocuous "Nice hair," directed at Boruto.

Actually, that was the one part of Boruto's black-tie look that Sarada wasn't particularly fond of. With his hair thoroughly tamed and slicked down like that—she imagined there must have been copious amounts of gel involved to control those wild spikes—she almost hadn't recognized him when they'd rendezvoused outside. It was a solidly executed gel job, and it didn't look _bad_ on him, but it diminished that flashy, full-of-life vibe he exuded. A few weeks ago she probably would have said it was an improvement and congratulated him on toning down the flamboyance she'd always found such a turnoff, but...well, as she'd gotten to know him better in recent days it had stopped being a turnoff, somehow.

"Tell that to Mitsuki, not me," Boruto said, reaching up with his free hand to pat his gelled hair gingerly, like it was some unknown creature sitting atop his head rather than a natural part of him. "He can take the credit, seeing as he's the one who spent like an hour getting it to stay in place. It takes a lot to seriously piss him off, but I swear, by the end he was ready to shove the comb down my throat if one more spike popped back up again. Not that it's _my_ fault, that's just how my hair is!"

Sarada smiled as she pictured Mitsuki darting nimbly around his roommate in front of the bathroom mirror in their apartment, attacking his hair with methodical determination. The image came to mind with surprising ease. Their friendship was a strong one, if a bit bizarre.

An announcement asked the guests to please take their seats, forcing the group of youth to split to join the tables reserved for their families' various companies. Still conscious of all the eyes on them, Boruto and Sarada made sure to take their leave of each other slowly. He slid his hand all the way down her bare arm as they broke apart, his fingers leaving a tingling trail in their wake, and they shared a lingering, conspiratorial look.

Sarada settled into a chair between her father and mother at the Uchiha-designated table, keeping a perfectly composed air. Whatever her father might have seen in her last time that had given her away, she wasn't going to let anything slip tonight.

Sakura touched her cheek affectionately. "You look beautiful, sweetheart."

"You were late," Sasuke grunted on her other side. To almost anyone else he would have appeared utterly emotionless, but to Sarada, familiar with the subtleties of her father's moods, a hint of disgruntlement was definitely detectable.

It lit a spark of hope inside her, but she just said calmly, "Sorry. But I didn't miss anything important."

They fell silent as the MC opened up the ceremony, introducing the awards that were up for grabs and proceeding to call the winners to the stage one after the other. After the first several recipients, Sarada let her attention drift. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Boruto at the Hokage table, sitting between his mother and Himawari and already looking bored to death. When she caught his eye, he perked up slightly and mimed tearing a part off an invisible piece of paper, rolling it up and throwing it at her, then faked falling asleep for a moment, head lolling back.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat at the clear reference to their medical conference misadventure. She managed to clamp down on it before it grew into anything more than a cough, but her ever-vigilant father noticed her reaction and shot a sharp look first at her and then over at Boruto. The Uzumaki sobered immediately, playing innocent, but as soon as Sasuke looked away, he grinned at her.

When it was Naruto's turn to receive an award on stage, she couldn't help but look back at his son again. She wasn't disappointed; during the short acceptance speech, Boruto adopted an exaggeratedly overcome-with-emotion expression and silently mimicked his father, clapping his hands over his heart dramatically and even mouthing the words with impressive accuracy (like Sarada, he'd been to so many of these events that he had the gist of the script memorized). She actually did let a tiny laugh escape at that, and found it difficult to get under control even when her father outright glared at her, sending a pointed message of _Get it together and stop disgracing yourself in public._ The spark of hope inside became a flame; it felt like compensation for the glare she had so desperately sought and failed to get when she'd brought Boruto to work.

At the break halfway through the evening, Sarada and Boruto made a beeline for each other. "At this rate you're going to get us kicked out of a public event _again,_ " she warned in a low voice, but there wasn't much force behind the accusation. In fact she sort of wished that she had become friends with Boruto a long time ago, so that he could have similarly entertained her at all the dull Galas of past years.

Boruto could tell she wasn't truly mad. He shrugged and snagged two glasses of wine from a passing server, handing one to her. "Hey, it's not like anyone is forcing you to look over at me. I'm not distracting you, you're distracting yourself. Besides, I think we're safe as long as that Tsunade woman isn't here. I gotta admit, she was terrifying." He glanced around nervously, as if expecting the hospital director to suddenly pop out of the shadows and hurl him bodily out of the room.

He had a point, so Sarada dropped the subject and took a sip from her glass. She licked her lips daintily, appreciatively; it was quality wine. "The Gala may be boring, but at least it's improved a bit since I came of legal drinking age," she remarked.

She was expecting enthusiastic agreement, so when she got a pause and a somewhat absent "Uh...yeah...right," she looked over to find him staring at her with a strangely glazed-over gaze, like he was in the middle of imagining something. Just as she noticed that he seemed to be looking at her lips—the ones she'd just licked—his eyes suddenly dropped to the curve of her hips and made their way up slowly from there.

If she wasn't much mistaken, Boruto was _checking her out._ She should have been pissed, should have called him out and shut him down, but instead she felt an odd warmth unfurl in her chest and face. _It's just the wine,_ she told herself, but the excuse felt weak. All of a sudden she was reminded of Boruto's suggestion last week that they get caught making out. He had obviously meant it jokingly, and she had taken it as such and turned it back on him by pretending to seriously consider it. But there had been a moment there—when she'd been almost between his legs, their faces so close that leaning in just a little would have been sufficient to make contact—just a moment when she _had_ sort of seriously considered it, when it had seemed somehow natural, easy.

"Do you like the dress?" The words seemed to spill out of her mouth of their own volition, and Sarada wanted to slap herself. What was she even doing? She wasn't normally the kind of person who went fishing for compliments. Oh God, was she _flirting_ with Boruto?

He managed to snap his eyes back onto hers and fumbled in a nervous rush, "What? Uh, yeah, it's good. It looks good."

Slight overuse of the word "good" there, but the sentiment seemed sincere. Sarada was sure she was noticeably blushing now, to her horror. She was tempted to run to the bathroom and splash cold water on her face. Maybe that would jolt some sense back into her in addition to cooling her flush.

"The break's almost over." Sasuke's deep, tense voice rumbled behind her. "You should go back to your seat."

Sarada and Boruto both jumped. Apparently sometime during their conversation, their fathers had approached them stealthily, so that Sasuke was now standing and observing a few feet behind Sarada while Naruto was similarly positioned in relation to Boruto. They seemed to be alternating between glaring at each other and glaring at their children.

"Yeah, I'm sure you kids wouldn't want to miss any of those exciting speeches coming up," Naruto put in, the forced heartiness of his tone disturbingly at odds with the daggers in his eyes as he stared down Sasuke.

Sarada was pretty sure there was a solid ten minutes left in the break, but after that unsettling exchange she was actually sort of thankful for an excuse to leave, so she let her father lead her back to their table without protest. As she turned away she saw Boruto take an undignified swig of his wine, dribbling a bit down his chin and hastily wiping it away. (And she was further unsettled to realize that she somehow found that kind of _cute_ rather than disgusting.) At least she wasn't the only one who'd been knocked out of her comfort zone.

The rest of the award presentations passed without incident. Sarada dared to glance over at Boruto just once more, only to have to fight off a blush when she caught him staring intently at her, chin propped on his fist. She looked away quickly and did a few surreptitious deep breathing exercises to get her emotions under control. She and Boruto were both healthy young adults, and they'd been spending a lot of time in close quarters lately; it was normal for there to be an... _attraction,_ right? It didn't have to really _mean_ anything beyond the fact that they were both capable of appreciating a moderately good-looking person who was nicely dressed up.

By the time the official ceremony was coming to a close, leaving the final portion of the Gala during which the orchestra played while the participants mingled and networked, she had mostly coached herself back into calm readiness for the next part of their plan. And as arranged, Boruto appeared next to her as soon as the final applause had faded out and the band had struck up their first tune. He cast a single anxious sideways glance at Sasuke, who was just rising from his chair next to her, but overall did an admirable job of ignoring the intimidating aura and focusing on her alone as he held out a hand to her and asked, "Hey Sarada, want to dance?"

She took the hand and stood. "Sure." She smiled innocently at her parents in farewell before following Boruto out onto the floor, feeling her father's eyes boring into her back like a laser.

They fell into the standard waltz position smoothly; neither of them were especially enthusiastic dancers, but they'd been to enough formal events to know the steps well. Sarada's dress was low enough in behind that half of the hand Boruto had on her back was pressed against her bare skin. Its heat was both agreeable and agitating.

"Your dad's not going to try to kill me right here, is he?" Boruto muttered in her ear as they began to move in slow circles. "There's got to be way too many witnesses, right?"

She smiled, although the expression might have come out slightly pained; she was feeling a confusing, contradictory mix of satisfaction—the more murderous her father looked right now, the better—relief that Boruto seemed to have gotten past the awkwardness of their earlier exchange as well, and disappointment that he wasn't...well, she wasn't sure what exactly she had been hoping he might say or do. Compliment her again? Stare at her body with open lust?

She was seriously losing it.

"There _are_ too many witnesses in here," she assured him playfully, using all her considerable willpower to shove her head back in the game, "but if you go out into the hallway by yourself to use the bathroom, you might want to watch out for an ambush."

He made a face. "If I die for this, I'm so coming back to haunt you."

"Fair enough." She could think of worse people and things to be haunted by than Boruto. At least her days would never be boring.

Suddenly frowning up at him, she tugged him to the side, out of the way of the other dancing couples, and brought them a stop. She made a little beckoning gesture with her hand, and he leaned down obligingly so his head was level with hers, silently questioning her with bewildered blue eyes.

Before he could ask what she was doing, she reached up with both hands and mussed his hair, ruffling it thoroughly and ruining the careful gel job so that it stuck out in all directions in a vague approximation of his usual blond spikes.

He sprang away with a yelp. " _Hey!_ What the hell?"

"That's better," she asserted, putting her hands on her hips and assessing the results with approval. "All that gel made your hair look weird. As ridiculous as those spikes are, they work for you."

His air of annoyance rapidly shifted into smugness. "Right, you and your thing for my hair. Just can't get enough of it, huh?"

She rolled her eyes as they resumed their waltzing, but his infectious grin made it hard to hold a grudge. "Shut up."

They'd only taken a few more steps together before Boruto's attention was drawn to Himawari, who had just danced by in the arms of Inojin. She waved at them both cheerfully as she passed. Besides knowing him from Galas past, Himawari was acquainted with the Yamanaka through the university; also a talented artist, he was her senior in the Fine Arts program.

"Hey! What does Inojin think he's doing with my sister?" Boruto craned his neck to follow their progress across the dance floor, scowling.

"Leave them alone. It's just a dance. Besides, she's nineteen, and Inojin is a good guy," Sarada pointed out sensibly, taking her hand off his shoulder to gently grab his chin and turn his head back toward her. She actually thought it was kind of sweet the way he looked out for his little sister, but she felt it was her duty as a fellow young woman (not to mention as the rational, level-headed one in their partnership) to keep him from butting into Himawari's social life too much.

He let her perform the adjustment, but didn't look entirely reassured. " _Only_ nineteen, you mean. You know what kinds of things _I_ was doing at nineteen?"

"The same kinds of irresponsible, absurd things you do now, I imagine, considering that it was only two years ago, and that it's _you,_ " she said matter-of-factly. "You may be the poster boy for dumb recklessness, but from what I gather, Himawari is smarter than that. If you survived, she'll definitely be fine."

"Harsh," he complained. But he rapidly followed up with a more forceful, "Anyway, being a 'good guy' only means so much when the guy is up close and personal with a pretty girl. At a certain point, he's not thinking about being _good_ anymore." His attention fixed back on her and his gaze roamed over her whole face, the light in his blue eyes intensifying. "Trust me," he added, more quietly.

She suddenly became aware that her hand was still on his face; it had dropped from cradling his chin to simply resting against his jaw, and it felt like he had just tilted his head into it a bit. She lowered the hand quickly back to his shoulder.

"I do," she said simply. "Trust you, I mean. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."

He blinked, taken aback, then smiled slightly, his expression softening. Her original intention with that comment had simply been to redirect the conversation away from guys getting "up close and personal" with girls—it was hitting a little too close to home when they were holding each other like this—but she realized after the fact that her words perhaps held an intimacy even more striking than the one suggested by their semi-embracing dancing position. And it wasn't even a false intimacy, despite the act they were putting on. She did trust him; she'd let him convince her to try this last-ditch effort, and was relying on him to make it work. Even if they weren't really dating, there was certainly something between them that hadn't been there a month ago.

They had both stopped paying much attention to where they were going, and suddenly Sarada noticed she was about to sideswipe another dancing couple. She had to step _into_ Boruto to avoid the collision, bringing them nearly chest-to-chest, both of her hands falling to his shoulders as she steadied herself while he tried to help her by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to him. All of a sudden there was very little distance between their faces, and a moment later, there was none at all—his lips had descended on hers.

Although it was totally unexpected— _this_ had never been part of the plan—it felt natural somehow, and Sarada found herself instinctively relaxing into the kiss. Their mouths moved together, a little clumsily but eagerly, noses brushing, and she could feel his fingers come up to curl in her hair. He was so warm, fierce yet gentle, and he tasted like the wine they'd been drinking earlier, sweet and bitter and heady, and she wanted _more_ —

And then he was wrenched away from her with a gasp, and her eyes flew open to find him being held back by a deadly-looking Sasuke. She staggered and almost lost her balance, not so much from the force of the move to separate them as from the pure shock to her system. It was all the more intense because at some point during the kiss—maybe even before the kiss, if she was being honest—she had actually forgotten that they were surrounded by a roomful of people.

A mere instant later, Naruto was there too, roughly knocking his rival's hand off Boruto's shoulder. " _Bastard,_ keep your hands off my son!" he snarled, shoving his way in between Boruto and the angry Uchiha.

"Then tell your _son_ to keep _his_ hands off my _daughter,_ " Sasuke spat, voice vibrating with rage as he in turn stepped in front of Sarada.

"Don't try to pin this all on him!" Naruto snapped. "Didn't look to me like she was putting up a fight!"

Sasuke ignored this perfectly accurate observation. " _Naruto."_ His dark eyes almost seemed to flash red with bloodlust. " _You need to have a talk with your son_."

"He's twenty-one, obviously I've already given him The Talk!" Naruto retorted loudly, indignant. Behind him, Boruto let out a low groan of humiliation.

"Not _that_ talk, moron." The temperature in the ballroom seemed to fluctuate madly as it alternated between blazing hot, with Naruto's fiery outbursts, and Antarctic cold, with Sasuke's glacial tone. "I mean the talk in which you explain to him what will happen to him if he continues to make advances at my daughter. Unless you want _me_ to talk to him." He placed a menacing emphasis on the word "talk."

"What the hell? Are you _threatening_ him?!" Naruto practically roared. By this point, both men had gone from standing straight to lightly crouching in athletic ready positions, as if they were about to launch themselves at each other for a fight. The rest of the ballroom had gone deathly silent, save for a few frightened murmurs.

The situation had escalated so far so fast that it would have been hilarious if it hadn't been in danger of erupting into actual violence. As it was, Sarada was still bizarrely tempted to laugh as she stood there open-mouthed in astonishment. And then it hit her what she and Boruto had overlooked in their planning of this evening: the Great Uchiha-Uzumaki Blow-Up of 2000 (as it was later termed by witnesses).

In their defense, they'd only been three at the time of the incident, and the details had always been fuzzy for them, as it wasn't a topic either family liked to discuss. From the vague bits and pieces Sarada remembered or had picked up over the years, she gathered it had been a minor disagreement between Sasuke and Naruto at the 2000 Gala that had somehow exploded into a major disaster involving fists, food, and furniture. It had earned both men a trip to the emergency room and a police interrogation, and was the main reason the families' feud was so widely known. Apparently the organizers had even considered banning the two men from attending the Gala afterward, fearing another catastrophe if the heads of Uchiha and Hokage were brought together in public again. They had only been permitted to come the following year after representatives were sent to personally speak to Naruto and Sasuke and elicit a promise from them to avoid disruptive conflict. That promise had been upheld on both sides for seventeen years since, but now, thanks to the next generation, it looked like it was about to be broken with a vengeance.

Sarada gulped. She had once had trouble imagining her father losing his expertly maintained cool to the point of brawling in public, but faced with this alarming scene, she no longer found the possibility so farfetched. She and Boruto had wanted to make an impression, but they hadn't intended to start a war. Obviously they'd never truly understood the extent of the volatility of their fathers' relationship.

Fortunately, there were others present who _hadn't_ forgotten the Great Uchiha-Uzumaki Blow-Up of 2000: most crucially, Hinata Uzumaki and Sakura Uchiha. Knowing they had a very limited amount of time to intervene before everything went to hell with no hope of redemption, the two women hurriedly made their way over to the battle zone.

"Calm down, you two," Sakura ordered, stepping courageously between the men. "This is nothing to ruin everyone's evening over."

"Boruto and Sarada are both intelligent adults," Hinata added more quietly, joining her to present a united front. "We should trust their judgment."

Both fathers looked as if they strongly disagreed with everything that had just been said. "Hinata," Naruto began, frustrated, "I don't think they really know what they're doing—"

As her shock receded and made space for her to think somewhat clearly again, Sarada stepped out from behind her father. "Actually, we do know what we're doing," she interrupted firmly. "We're dating."

Saying the words out loud to both of their parents sent a rush of adrenaline thundering through her veins. This was the moment of truth. Or possibly the moment of greatest falsehood, depending on one's perspective.

"Uh, yeah, dating!" Boruto piped up in support. "And if you're talking about the bad blood between the Uzumakis and the Uchihas, we know about that too, obviously; we just don't care. That's your problem, not ours."

"You heard them," Sakura said calmly. "If anyone here doesn't know what they're doing, it's not the younger generation. Sasuke, Naruto, look at yourselves. Are you really about to make an inappropriate scene at a public event—again? You're both adults, professionals, and leaders in this community; start acting like it. Don't embarrass your children just because they've shown a maturity and open-mindedness that _you_ have yet to learn."

Naruto made as if to take a step forward, but Hinata turned on him swiftly with a stern look. It wasn't precisely angry, certainly not a glare, but it was a silencing, disciplinary stare that said, _Stop now._ He did stop, looking as if he wanted to be the one hiding behind Boruto now instead.

Sasuke, amused at how easily his rival had been quashed, shot him a superior smirk. Unfortunately Sakura saw it too, and she _did_ glare, rather ferociously. She strode right up to him, took his arms and spun him around, and started to nudge him in the direction of the door. "That's it. Sasuke, we're leaving, since I obviously can't trust you two supposedly grown men to behave."

He knew better than to try to resist when his wife was so evidently displeased, but he still tossed out, "Sarada, you're coming too."

"Oh, leave her alone!" Sakura snapped, patience at an end. Her green eyes, normally so good-natured, flashed with fury. Sarada was reminded of the fact that people who thought Sasuke was the scarier parent had just never seen Sakura truly enraged. "She can make her own decisions, and so far they seem to be better than yours!"

Thoroughly chastised, Sasuke kept quiet as he was half-dragged to the exit, and Sarada probably would have been free to stay if she'd wanted, but as she glanced at Boruto, the overwhelming sensation of _the kiss_ came rushing back. She definitely needed time to think about this, figure out what on earth had happened, and sort out her feelings before she confronted him again. So even though she felt like a coward doing it, she said hastily, "No, that's all right, I'll go. Boruto...I'll call you."

She gave him a stiff little wave, not quite meeting his eyes, which he returned with a rather dazed air. "Sounds good," he said, sounding hesitant behind a layer of forced cheer. "Uh, bye. Good night."

As she trailed her parents out the door, not daring to look back at Boruto and resisting the urge to touch her lips, which still tingled with unusual warmth, Sarada wondered why she felt more confused and jittery than pleased. She should have been elated; that had been more of a reaction from her father than she had ever dreamed of, and it was obvious that both Sasuke and Naruto were having _intense_ doubts about the supposedly fake nature of their kids' relationship. But instead of celebrating the night's success, she was having doubts of her own.

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A/N: For most of this story I've been worried that I was moving too slow, but with this chapter I'm suddenly worried that I've moved a little too fast. Pacing is always one of my biggest challenges with longer works. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

Hi everyone! Sorry for the sudden long absence after I'd gotten you all accustomed to weekly updates. "Real life" (although I actually dislike that term; fanfiction is part of my real life too, after all!) got a little crazy in April and I just didn't have the time or concentration to spare for this fic. But I'm back now and hoping to return to a faster posting schedule again. Thank you for all the continued support!

 **Also, WARNING: This chapter contains an act of violence.** I don't think it's particularly extreme or graphic compared to some of the things we've seen in _Naruto_ , but I realize it's probably not the kind of thing anyone is expecting from a fic like this, so just a heads-up. (PM me if you would prefer to get a summary of the chapter rather than reading it in full.) This also means that this chapter is somewhat less light-hearted than you may have come to expect, but don't worry, the story won't stay too sombre for too long.

In happier news, I was really encouraged and delighted by your responses to the last chapter (and the kiss!), which I was nervous about. Thank you so much :)

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CHAPTER 9

Sarada stared at her phone where it rested on the table in front of her, feeling both irresistibly drawn to and strongly repelled from it. Despite the promise she'd made at the Gala to call Boruto, it had been a full day since then and she still hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. Of course, _he_ hadn't tried to call or contact her in any way either, and she wasn't sure how to feel about that, or what to do next. Maybe she could call him but just not say anything about the—the _kiss_? Then again, if she avoided the subject so obviously, that might just make it more awkward. Whatever was between her and Boruto now (or had been before The Kiss), it was easy and relaxing and just fun. Did she really want to risk messing that up?

"Sarada."

She jumped in her seat, breaking out of her thoughts to find her father watching her from across the table with one eyebrow impatiently raised. She straightened, surprised at herself, and quickly flipped over her phone so she couldn't see the screen. She'd been waiting for this moment, for her father to take her out one-on-one and give her his full attention away from work, and yet now that it had come, she was too distracted to really appreciate it. It wasn't like her.

Sasuke eyed the phone disapprovingly. "Are you waiting to hear from your…"

Sarada couldn't tell if he'd trailed off because he just couldn't bear to speak the words "your boyfriend" in reference to Boruto, or because he was hoping to draw some sort of new information out of her by forcing her to fill in the blank.

Either way, she found a ruthless satisfaction in leaving him hanging. "My what?" she asked innocently.

His eyes narrowed. "Boruto," he snapped.

"My...Boruto?" Unable to resist baiting him, she held back a smile as his eyes narrowed even further.

"What exactly is he to you." Her father had always had a talent for firing off a question in such a commanding, unyielding manner that it somehow sounded more like an order.

She thought she'd made the answer to that pretty clear by announcing "We're dating" at the Gala, but maybe it hadn't fully sunk in for him yet. "My boyfriend," she replied, trying not to show how weird the word felt in her own mouth. (Or how it made her flash back to The Kiss yet again.)

Sasuke was forced to put the interrogation on pause as the waiter came over. Her father barely glanced at the man as he took their orders, staying fully focused on her. Once the waiter had left, looking a little intimidated even though none of the Uchiha's intensity had been directed at him, Sasuke pressed, "Are you certain?"

It took Sarada a moment to link the question with her earlier "boyfriend" statement. "Yes, Dad, I'm certain," she confirmed dryly. "I think I would know whether Boruto is or isn't my boyfriend."

But her common-sense claim wasn't quite as true as it should have been. She knew that Boruto _wasn't_ her real boyfriend, of course...but she didn't entirely know what he _was_ , at the moment.

"What, precisely, do you see in him?" The audible derision in her father's question set her on edge. He didn't even _know_ Boruto, not really; it was arrogant and ignorant to insult him like this.

Still, she fought to keep her tone even as she replied, "Well, he's funny, and creative, and he doesn't take life too seriously. I can relax when I'm with him. We...we have fun together." It was all true, she realized with some surprise.

"You expect me to believe that you and Naruto's son are... _compatible_."

The unconcealed distaste in Sasuke's tone this time was too much for her. "I expect you to believe _me,_ " she retorted, almost snapping. "I know you're not particularly interested in my life. But I'm your daughter. Don't you even trust me?"

That seemed to genuinely throw him off, and he actually sat back, eyes widening slightly and losing their judgmental squint. "Not particularly interested in your life?" he repeated tonelessly.

"Not only do you not know Boruto, you barely know _me,_ " she forged on. "You're not in a position to judge who I'm truly compatible with, Dad. And don't you think it's a bit presumptuous of you to just assume that I even care what you think, when you've essentially ignored me for so long?"

She stopped, breathing harder than before, a little shocked at the boldness of her own remark. She had actually intended to keep playing it cool at this meeting, not let her temper talk. But her raw feelings had somehow wrested control over the situation away from her strategic mind.

"Your display of emotion suggests that you do, in fact, care what I think," Sasuke pointed out, but his tone was cautious, wary, lacking some of his usual cool self-assurance.

The truth in that struck her sharply, and she slumped in her seat, painfully confused. She _did_ care what he thought, of course; that was the whole point of all this. The goal from the start had been to piss him off, which meant that she should have been thrilled that he was displeased with her choice of boyfriends, that he was taking time out of his day just to criticize Boruto. But instead it was genuinely angering her to hear him make negative assumptions about someone whose company she enjoyed, someone who had supported her and rushed fearlessly into rebellion along with her.

"I...I don't even know what I feel anymore," she admitted quietly, looking down at the table. It was the most emotionally honest thing she'd said to her father in a long time.

"Sarada..." Her father had a lot of ways of saying her name, most of them some variation of stern or expectant. She didn't think she'd ever heard him pronounce it so...hesitantly before, like he was at a loss, like he didn't know what to say, what order to give. Like he was as confused as she was.

A shadow fell over them as someone approached, presumably the waiter arriving with their food. Sarada was hesitant to look up from the table, afraid of what her father might be able to read in her eyes, but Sasuke's head snapped up toward the newcomer with an expression of irritation at being interrupted. Then he paused and said impatiently, "Yes? Can I help you?"

That seemed like a strange thing to say to a waiter, so Sarada glanced over curiously to see that the man who'd interrupted definitely wasn't the smartly dressed restaurant employee who had addressed them before; in fact, going by the clothing—a wrinkled brown button-up shirt and faded jeans—he wasn't a waiter at all. He was a moderately heavyset middle-aged man, probably around her father's age but not in quite as good shape, somewhat balding, with an unhealthy pallor under his stubble. Sweat was beading on his forehead despite the air conditioning inside the restaurant. Sarada would have guessed he was a work associate of her father's, one of the more laid-back ones who didn't pay much attention to their appearance when not on official business, if not for the fact that her father clearly didn't recognize him.

"Sasuke Uchiha," the stranger said. His voice was low, and trembled slightly.

" _Yes?"_ Sasuke repeated, openly annoyed now.

"You've never cared about people for anything besides the profit they can bring you. You've only achieved everything you have by treating the people around you like trash and discarding them the moment they stop being useful," the man stated. His tone was oddly, creepily emotionless, when the words themselves sounded like they should have been spoken in anger. "You haven't earned your success or happiness."

Sasuke had gone rigid in his seat, his eyes flashing with a mix of outrage and shock. "What did you just say to me?" he hissed.

"Dad…" Sarada spoke up tentatively, a feeling of tremendous unease suddenly washing over her. She was aware that not everyone in town thought well of her high-profile father—a few times she herself had been confronted by people who just wanted to rant insultingly about him—but there was something really _wrong_ with this man, she could sense it.

The stranger's gaze swivelled to her, sending a blaze of horror down her spine. However emotionless his speech might be, his eyes were the opposite; she could see pure, hot loathing churning darkly inside them. She'd never felt anything so malevolent directed at her before.

"It's your turn to feel what it's like to lose everything, just like I did thanks to you, Uchiha. It's what you deserve."

With that chilling statement, the man pulled something out of his pocket. There was a quiet clicking sound, and suddenly a blade flashed brightly in his hand.

He lunged at her, brandishing his knife wildly, and she leaped away on reflex, only to feel her back slam into the window next to their table. She had no means of retreat. But then, with a sharp exclamation of " _Sarada!_ "—the most panicked sound she'd ever heard Sasuke Uchiha make—her father dove over the table, frantically grabbing for the man.

Sarada screamed.

* * *

"Boruto, is everything all right?"

At his mother's question, he looked up from his dinner to find not just Hinata but also his father and sister giving him concerned looks. He suddenly realized that more of his food had been scraped along his plate in chaotic patterns than actually consumed. Also, although Naruto had been half-staring, half-glowering at him across the table for the entire length of the meal in what was no doubt a silent demand that he explain his actions from the Gala (something that would ordinarily have goaded Boruto into obnoxiously talking about everything _except_ that), he'd barely noticed, and barely spoken at all. All in all, it had been a very calm, civil meal. This was a rare—to the extent of being actually worrisome—occurrence when all the Uzumakis dined together, as they were doing tonight to make up for Naruto's absence from their traditional pre-Gala family dinner yesterday.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he hastened to assure them, trying to force a grin. "Just, uh, thinking."

Himawari nodded with a knowing air. "Oh, is it about Sara-"

"It's about school!" Boruto blurted out before she could finish the word, jerking upright and smacking the table so hard with his knee that he almost tipped over everyone's glasses. "Yeah, school. I'm thinking about school."

He _was_ thinking about Sarada, of course—Sarada, and her lips, and the way they'd felt on top of his...he gave himself a mental slap as he felt his mind drifting down that road again. To be honest, after the Gala, The Kiss, and then a day of radio silence from her (not that a day was _that_ long, not long enough to really mean anything—was it?), he was starting to go a little crazy, to the point where he might be willing to discuss the matter with Mitsuki, or maybe even Shikadai, not that either of them had a lot of great firsthand experience with women as far as he knew. But with his little sister and his parents, at the dinner table? No way.

Himawari and Hinata both had the tact to let it go at that, but Naruto had never had very good instincts when it came to knowing when to back off. "School?" he echoed, aggressively chewing the last of his own meal. "What about it? It's the summer, you aren't even in school right now." Not to mention that everyone in the family knew that Boruto, to whom good grades had always come easily, never worried about school even when it was in session.

"Well, yeah," Boruto continued lamely, "but it's starting up again in just, uh…"

"Two and a half months?" his father supplied skeptically.

Swearing internally at his total failure of a lie, Boruto stood up quickly. "Hey look, I'm done eating! Who else is done? I can take the dishes to the kitchen!" He grabbed a few plates and practically ran out of the room.

He proceeded to do the dishes with Himawari in a sort of fog; a couple of times she had to nudge him so he'd keep going after he'd paused with the soapy sponge dripping down his wrist. When they'd finally gotten through that, he poured himself a glass of cold water—every time he thought about how Sarada's mouth had felt pressed against his, which was around once every thirty seconds, he got uncomfortably warm all over—and returned to the living room in hopes of finding a distraction.

His parents were still there, now watching the evening news, and he took up a perch on the arm of the sofa next to where his mother was sitting. After studying him carefully for a minute, she stroked his forearm soothingly and leaned up to briefly whisper in his ear, "If you want to talk about anything, you know I'm here."

He nodded and tried to smile reassuringly at her, seriously considering the offer for a second. He wasn't used to talking to his mother about his love life problems (and wait, could Sarada even be considered part of his love life? They weren't really dating—but they _had_ really kissed, or at least it had felt a heck of a lot like a real kiss to him), but she _was_ a woman after all, and she'd proven she could be a rational adult about his relationship with Sarada, unlike his dad. Then again, it would be hard to get good advice from someone who didn't know about the whole fake-dating situation. Maybe he was better off starting with Mitsuki.

Suddenly the sound of a familiar name drew his attention to the TV screen, which was currently showing some sort of incident outside an upscale restaurant downtown. Footage of a police car and an ambulance at the scene was playing.

" _It appears that prominent Konoha businessman Sasuke Uchiha, owner of the Uchiha Corporation, was dining here tonight with his daughter,"_ a reporter was announcing in the cool, carefully enunciated tone typical of the news. Boruto tensed in surprise. " _The details of the attack on the Uchiha family are currently unclear, but at least one person has apparently been taken to the hospital with serious injuries."_

Boruto's whole body went numb all at once. He didn't even notice when his glass slipped through his fingers, or hear it shatter on the floor.

* * *

Sarada paced up and down the waiting room, occasionally stopping to lean against the wall when her legs got too shaky. She had washed her bloodstained hands in a daze in a hospital bathroom some time ago, but every time she looked down at them she still saw flashes of red and felt the thick, warm wetness seeping over her skin as she tried to halt its flow from her father's frighteningly still body. She couldn't stop thinking about that man, the look on his face, and the knife, sliding with such sickening ease into her father's stomach. For a crazy moment she seriously considered banging her head against the wall until she lost consciousness—anything to put an end to this torture.

" _Sarada_!"

The shout made her turn, and she saw Boruto barrelling across the room at high speed. For an instant of bewildered panic she thought he was going to body-slam her into the wall, but then she felt his arms encircle her and he pulled her into a tight embrace. She was pressed fully against his warm body, her lips smushed into his collarbone, his mouth moving against her hair as he questioned her urgently.

"Sarada! Are you okay? Are you hurt? What the _hell_ happened? Why didn't you answer your phone?!"

Stunned by the outpouring of genuine concern, and a little alarmed to find that he was shaking against her, she patted his back tentatively. "I'm—I'm fine," she assured him. "I wasn't hurt. My...my dad, he protected me." Her voice trembled as she replayed the awful moment in her mind for the millionth time.

Still gripping her shoulders, he pulled back to look into her face. His usually clear blue eyes were stormy with emotion. "Your dad? Is he all right?"

"I...I don't know yet." She swallowed hard, sort of wishing he would hug her again. It had been unexpected but oddly comforting.

A noise made her look over Boruto's shoulder, and she saw his father standing there, waiting a couple of metres away. Naruto was watching her with a funny look on his face, like he wasn't sure what to make of her.

Boruto twisted to see what had grabbed her attention, letting her go for a moment as he turned around to face his father. But just as quickly he put an arm over her shoulders, drawing her into his side again. She had to stifle the uncharacteristic urge to turn her face into his chest and just block out the world, block out everything that had happened tonight.

"Sarada," Naruto spoke first, looking uncharacteristically grim. "We heard on the news there was an attack. I'm glad you're okay. How is Sasuke, do you know?"

"He's in surgery. He was...stabbed." Nausea rose up in her as she said the words, and for a second she thought she was going to have to make a run for the bathroom, but Boruto gave her a gentle one-armed squeeze, and the warm pressure steadied her. She took a deep breath.

Naruto looked rather sick as well, but he just asked, "Is there anything you need? Someone who needs to be called?"

She shook her head. "My mom already knows—she was working a shift here when he was brought in. She's in the OR with him now."

"He's in good hands then," Naruto said with a firm nod. "Sarada, your dad and I may not always get along, but I mean it when I say he's the toughest bastard I know. He'll be okay."

She caught Boruto shooting his dad a glare for his less than sensitive choice of phrasing, but she felt strangely grateful for his words. Maybe she should have been offended that Naruto was still calling her father a bastard in these circumstances, but she actually found it reassuring, a glimpse of routine among the chaos. Now if only her dad would wake up so he could call Naruto a moron in return.

"Want to sit down?" Boruto asked her. She didn't really, but it wasn't like standing up was any better, so she let him lead her to a chair in the waiting room. He sat next to her and took her fingers in his, resting their clasped hands on his leg. Naruto took out his cell phone and moved into a corner, talking in a low voice.

"What actually happened?" Boruto asked quietly, leaning his head in close to hers. "I mean, if you feel like talking about it."

She steeled herself and gave him an abbreviated summary, achieving a weak, shaky imitation of the professional, detached monotone her father specialized in. Boruto's grip on her hand tightened considerably during the account, and her fingers were starting to go numb, but somehow she didn't want his hold to loosen. "Did they get the guy?" was all he asked when she finished.

She nodded. "I knocked him down, and security came and grabbed him."

" _You_ knocked him down?"

On any other occasion, she would have been quite pleased by how impressed he sounded. "My dad made me take self-defense classes in high school."

"Wow. Remind me not to get on your bad side." He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Maybe I should get Himawari to take a class too."

Boruto's clear concern for his sister was something she'd liked about him from the start, and Sarada found herself offering impulsively, "I could teach her a few moves."

"Really? You'd do that?" he said, surprised.

She took a deep, quavering breath and groped for the normalcy of their usual exchanges. "Your sister seems smart; I'm sure teaching her won't be hard. If you wanted me to teach _you,_ on the other hand…" As far as jibes went, it wasn't her best, but Boruto had relaxed her enough to at least try. With him next to her, her grip on sanity suddenly felt considerably more secure.

"Hey!" he protested, playing along, but there was no real complaint in his voice. And a moment later he sobered completely, all humour fading from his features.

"Sarada...you really scared me tonight. When I heard there had been an attack on Sasuke Uchiha and his daughter…I was just...I mean, I..." He searched for the words to describe his reaction for a few moments before simply giving up, running his free hand through his hair with a sigh. "Try not to do that to me again, huh?"

"It's not like it was my fault," she said, but there was no sting in it, her tone softened by his sincere confession. It had been obvious that he'd been worried from the way he'd held onto her earlier, but she was touched to hear him say it out loud.

"I know. I didn't mean it like that!" he exclaimed, appalled. "Of course it wasn't your fault. That guy's obviously a total psycho. I just…"

She leaned over and pressed a light, quick kiss to his cheek, effectively silencing him. "I know what you meant," she said. "Thank you, Boruto."

"Uh...y-yeah...no, no problem," he stammered, totally caught off guard by the gesture. He blushed faintly.

There was movement in her peripheral vision, and she glanced up to see Naruto taking the seat on Boruto's other side. If he'd witnessed that last exchange, he didn't comment.

"I called Hinata," he informed Boruto. "Let her know we'd probably be here a while." He leaned over so he could see past his son, making eye contact with Sarada. "She wanted me to tell you she's thinking of you and sending her best wishes. And if you or your mom need anything, we'd be happy to help."

"Thank you," Sarada said quietly, meaning it. She still wasn't quite sure what to make of Naruto himself—he seemed like a good man, but he tended to come on a little strong, and his constant ridiculous exchange of insults with her father was rather off-putting—but there was no denying that his wife was a lovely woman, generous and thoughtful to a fault.

As Sasuke's surgery wore on into the wee hours of the night, the three of them continued to wait. Boruto tried to distract her by telling her stories about his dumb childhood antics (with occasional input from Naruto, generally to emphasize just how spectacularly dumb the antic in question had been), but she only half-listened, her worry increasing with every passing minute. She and her father had been arguing at that ill-fated dinner. What if that had been their last conversation ever? There was so much she hadn't told him: how much she loved and respected him, how badly she wanted to hear from him that he loved and respected her too. Not to mention that if he...if the worst happened, it would be because of _her_. He'd been protecting _her_. How was she supposed to live with that?

It felt like an eternity later when the doors to the waiting room swung open and Sakura walked in, still in green medical scrubs, her gait tired but steady. Sarada shot to her feet, the two Uzumakis close behind, but she was afraid to advance further, not sure if she wanted to hear the news.

Then her mother met her eyes and smiled—only slightly, and very exhaustedly, but it was still a smile. And Sarada knew everything was going to be okay.

She all but flew across the room, burying herself in her mother's open arms, the terrified tears she'd been holding in spilling out all at once. When she finally stepped away again, her vision was so blurred from crying that she could barely see, but she could feel Boruto's warm hand on her back, steadying her.

* * *

A/N: A chapter that certainly brings out my flair for the melodramatic. I feel somewhat guilty about using the rather cheap "random act of violence" device, but the attacker's motives will turn out to have some not-completely-random significance, and since I didn't want to commit to a very lengthy fic, I felt I needed the help of some external pressure to give Sasuke his necessary wake-up call within a reasonable time frame. I hope no one was too worried, anyway; despite this dip into seriousness, I promise this is not the kind of fic in which anyone suffers permanent damage (unless falling in love qualifies as permanent damage?). As always, thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

A perhaps slightly less dramatic chapter than the last, but hopefully no less entertaining (and updated more quickly, if nothing else!). I hope anyone out there with real medical knowledge can forgive any inaccuracies regarding Sasuke's treatment or recovery process—I have no training in that area myself, so I confess I'm pretty much just going with what's convenient for the plot.

Many thanks to all you lovely readers for your support!

* * *

CHAPTER 10

Awareness slowly crept up on Sasuke. He could hear a distant beeping— _annoying_ —and feel a light pressure on his hand, in addition to a sharp ache in his abdomen. He tried to move his fingers, and the pressure increased.

"Dad! Dad, can you hear me?" a voice exclaimed excitedly. "He's waking up."

Dad...that could only be Sarada. _Sarada!_ His eyes snapped open. There had been a man with a knife, lunging at her—

He calmed slightly as her face swam into view. She looked healthy. In fact, she looked downright wonderful as she leaned over him, her dark eyes big and anxious, her lips moving as she spoke rapidly. He marvelled, not for the first time, at the fact that he and Sakura had managed to create something so incredible. She was the best of both of them, and more besides. Sarada was...beautiful.

He must have murmured the word out loud, because she looked around uncertainly, as if not sure what he was seeing, then turned to her mother and asked with concern, "Mom, what kinds of drugs is he on?"

Sakura laughed lightly, standing behind her daughter. "Just some painkillers, sweetheart, nothing to worry about. I think your dad is just...appreciating his awakening."

With an effort, he turned his head on the pillow so he could clearly see his daughter. She _looked_ all right, but he had to be sure. "Sarada?" he rasped questioningly.

"I'm fine," she reassured him instantly, although tears swirled for a moment in her eyes—they resembled his in colour, but took on the vivid expressiveness of her mother's during moments of high emotion. "You...you saved me."

His fingers were squeezed again, and he realized that it was Sarada holding his hand in her smaller, paler one, her forearm resting on the bed. That brought on a wave of nostalgia; it had been well over a decade since he'd last held his daughter's hand. In fact, it felt like a long time since she had really touched him at all.

"The attacker?" He licked his lips; his mouth was obscenely dry.

Sakura noticed, stepping forward to carefully hand him a cup of ice chips and pressing the button to raise the head of the bed at the same time. "He's in custody," she said. "The police will want to talk to you when you're feeling a bit stronger, but there were plenty of eyewitnesses, so there should be no trouble putting him away." Her usually warm voice turned icy as she brought up the man who had threatened her family.

Plenty of eyewitnesses—including his daughter. Even if Sarada hadn't been injured herself, Sasuke knew it was a trauma that would stay with her forever. He felt sick for reasons that had nothing to do with the drugs he'd been given.

"Why did he do it? What did he say?" he demanded, suddenly desperate for a _reason._ Those few minutes right before the attack were just a nightmarish haze in his brain; he couldn't remember what exactly the man had said before drawing his weapon.

"Sasuke, we can talk about this later," Sakura said, calmly but firmly. "What matters is that everyone's all right. For now, you need to focus on relaxing and recovering." He met his wife's clear green eyes, catching the glance she darted toward Sarada. His daughter obviously remembered what the attacker had said, from the shadow hanging over her features. But her mother was right to intercede; Sarada had no doubt relived the horror often enough already over the course of however long he'd been here, and it would be beyond insensitive to ask her to give a play-by-play now. He knew he could be hard on his only child, but he had never had any desire to be actually cruel.

A couple of sudden loud knocks at the door preceded the entrance of two familiar blonds. The Uzumaki men poked their heads into the hospital room, wearing remarkably similar expressions of mingled hope and concern. Sasuke hid his surprise. Somehow it didn't seem that odd that Naruto would be hanging around—the man was among his oldest acquaintances, after all, and it was normal to take an interest in the health of your biggest rival anyway—but why would he bring his son here?

"Hey, is Sasuke awake yet?" Naruto wanted to know. Upon spotting the Uchiha sitting up, he blinked and continued with his usual sensitivity, "Oh, finally. I was wondering when you'd get tired of sleeping, you lazy bastard." But his bright grin seemed more sincere than mocking.

"I was _stabbed,_ not napping, you moron," Sasuke pointed out scathingly, but although the acerbic response was a reflex, it was hard to be truly annoyed; today, Naruto being Naruto was less a provocation and more a simple reminder that he was still alive, and lucky to be so. After all, lame insults from his rival had been a custom for so long now that he could barely picture a life without them.

Sakura shook her head, commenting with dry fondness, "It's good to know that even a near-death experience can't make you two get along even for a minute. Unless 'bastard' and 'moron' are terms of endearment between you, which I have to say I've always secretly suspected they might be."

Naruto grimaced in undisguised revulsion. "Ugh, can we please never use the phrase 'terms of endearment' to talk about me and the bastard again?"

Sasuke seconded that sentiment wholeheartedly (much as it pained him to agree with Naruto about anything), but he kept quiet, noticing that the lighthearted exchange had lifted some of the darkness from Sarada's features.

Boruto, lurking behind his father, took the opportunity to clear his throat and comment seriously if awkwardly, "Uh, I'm glad you're okay, Mr. Uchiha."

Sasuke managed to give him a curt nod of acknowledgment. Anything more was beyond him when just the sight of the younger Uzumaki's face made him flash back to what he'd seen Boruto doing with his daughter at the Gala, a memory only slightly less traumatic than the experience of being stabbed.

His well wishes expressed, Boruto stepped further into the room and moved to Sarada, dropping a hand to her shoulder. Well, Sasuke would have preferred to think of it as him just placing a hand on her shoulder—that was something that even just a casual acquaintance might do—but in actuality it was more like he put his hand on her neck, high enough that he was almost cupping her face, then gently slid it down her skin, over her bare collarbone, until it finally reached her shoulder. Sasuke saw the fabric of her shirt bunch up as Boruto squeezed her gently there. The urge to slap the offending hand away from his daughter was strong, and Sasuke silently cursed the ache in his midsection that warned him that extreme pain would ensue if he tried to sit up further on his own.

The urge only grew stronger as Sarada turned at the touch, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand as she met the younger Uzumaki's eyes. It did recede slightly, though, when she smiled genuinely at Boruto and Sasuke saw the sharp lines of anxiety in her face smooth out, the tension in her body relaxing under his hand. At least Naruto Junior was good for something.

The Uchiha patriarch felt his own level of tension mount again, however, as he read their body language more carefully. They were clearly leaning into each other, Boruto bending over to get a better view into Sarada's face, and they seemed to be communicating silently, the blond looking deep into her eyes for a few seconds before obviously finding reassurance there and grinning back at her. Even when he let her go reluctantly and stepped back, her gaze stayed riveted on his for a moment or two.

"Everyone except the moron, leave us alone for a minute," Sasuke ordered suddenly. "We have something to discuss."

There could be little doubt as to whom he meant, and despite mild confusion at the strangely timed request, no one in the room could deny something so simple to a hospital patient who had just narrowly escaped death. Everyone besides Naruto filed out obligingly after another squeeze of his hand from Sarada and a quick kiss from Sakura (in addition to a strict warning: "I know you two will fight because it's all you ever do, but keep it a _low-stress_ fight, or I will make you both sorry"). Sasuke's eyes narrowed as he saw Boruto rest a hand on the small of Sarada's back as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as they were alone, Sasuke's attention snapped to Naruto, who had dropped into the chair Sarada had vacated, and he hissed, "Why is your son even here?"

"We heard about the attack on the news," Naruto explained neutrally enough, although his hackles had begun to rise at the other man's tone. "They didn't say who exactly had been injured, so Boruto was worried it might have been Sarada."

"That brings me to my next question: what the hell does he think he's doing?"

Immediately understanding what he was referring to, Naruto snapped back, "Don't you think you should be asking your daughter that?"

Sasuke glared. "I thought we had determined that they were doing this just to spite us."

"That was pretty much our conclusion, yeah."

"Then what did I just see, just now, and at the Gala? That didn't look like spite. It looked like...real feelings," Sasuke spat with unconcealed distaste.

"I'm not sure you should be the judge of any _real feelings,_ bastard. Do you even know what those are?"

"Shut up, I'm serious," came the snarled retort. "Your son. With Sarada. He looked like…"

"...he really cares about her?" Naruto sighed, his hostility suddenly fading into resignation. "Yeah. I thought so too. And you didn't even see him in the hallway with her earlier. Or when he first heard she'd been involved in an attack. He freaked when he thought she might be hurt."

Both men lapsed into a grimly contemplative silence, until Naruto, much subdued, asked, "What about Sarada? Do you know how she really feels?"

"It's hard to tell," Sasuke admitted. He'd always felt it was an important and worthwhile skill to be able to conceal one's feelings, but it was a hard pill to swallow when it made him incapable of reading his own daughter. "She's an Uchiha; unlike _some people_ , she has the sense and dignity to refrain from shouting her feelings from the rooftops. But she was very defensive when I...questioned her taste in men at our dinner together. She almost seemed honestly disappointed that I didn't approve, when I had previously assumed that my disapproval was the whole point."

Naruto rubbed his face. "I mean, even if they are into each other, what can we really do about it but let them figure it out themselves? They're adults now. And to be honest, I don't really want to interfere in Boruto's life in any way that will make him resent me even more than he already does."

Sasuke frowned, disagreeing. "They're still just kids." Sarada and Boruto teaming up to annoy him and Naruto was less than ideal, but he could work with it; it was essentially just an exceptionally intricate childish prank. Sarada and Boruto embarking on a real, adult romantic relationship, he didn't know how to begin to deal with. He suspected that Sarada and Boruto didn't know how to deal with it either.

The blond man sighed again. "I think Hinata was right at the Gala. We're just gonna have to trust them at some point."

Sasuke scowled—never appreciating those moments when Naruto appeared to be acting more sensible than he was—and growled, "If he hurts her…"

"My son is the one in more danger, if you ask me," Naruto retorted. "From what I hear, Sarada can take care of herself. You know she was the one who took out your attacker after you were down, right?"

The Uchiha patriarch had suspected as much, and he felt a thrill of simultaneous pride and terror as he thought about his daughter confronting a man with a knife. He'd never wanted her to ever have to defend herself like that, but it was good to know that she was capable of doing so. "She's a fighter," he acknowledged quietly.

"Well, so's Boruto. And I'm thinking this is one battle we might just have to let them fight on their own."

With that, Naruto let out a heavy breath and rose. "Hey, get some rest, bastard. If this goes on much longer, Sakura's gonna come back and kill us both. Your wife is way scarier than you, you know—and it looks like your daughter is shaping up to be the same."

Sasuke snorted, but didn't deny it. "Whatever, moron. Get the hell out, then."

* * *

Sarada's cell phone chirped as she leaned back into the seat of the taxi currently transporting her away from the hospital. Ignoring the sound for a moment, she let her head drop against the window in the kind of show of weakness she normally wouldn't have indulged in while in public. The past day and night had been far from normal, however, and although the waking nightmare of wondering if her father would live or die was over, she had a feeling the other kind of nightmare would be dogging her sleep for a while. She'd only left the hospital because both of her parents had firmly ordered her to, and even then only because she knew it really was what her father preferred; he'd never liked people hovering worriedly around him, always resenting the implication that he needed help from anyone. Anyway, her mother was working at the hospital and would be around to check on him.

She had carefully avoided mentioning Boruto after he and Naruto had left, not wanting to stress her father in his condition, and not sure how much of their conversation at the restaurant he even remembered. For his part, he hadn't tried to grill her on her "boyfriend" anymore either, although she suspected some of the brooding silences he'd sporadically fallen into might have been devoted to that subject. She knew he hadn't lost interest and they would definitely be discussing it further, but she felt, and probably he did as well, that it would be healthier for everyone involved for them to wait to do so until he was closer to his usual strength and she wasn't so emotionally exhausted.

Her phone chirped again, reminding her she still hadn't looked at the text, and she pulled it out of her purse. It was from Boruto, unsurprisingly. He'd been messaging her every half-hour or so since he'd left that morning shortly after her father had woken up, asking how she was doing and sometimes sending her funny pictures or links. (She found it both slightly annoying and quite touching.) This time he'd sent her a simple _Hey sup._

 _I'm on my way home. Finally leaving the hospital,_ she texted back. There were two kinds of people in the world: people who still paid moderate attention to proper grammar while texting, and people who didn't. Sarada belonged to the first group, Boruto to the second.

She jumped when her phone rang a moment later. She accepted the call and was greeted by Boruto's enthusiastic, straight-to-the-point "Hey! You should come over to my place."

"Right now?" she questioned, taken aback.

"Yeah! Instead of just going back to your own sad little apartment. I mean, nothing against your apartment," he said in a rush. "It's just, I know if it was me, I wouldn't really want to be alone, not right after...after leaving the hospital."

She was silent for a moment, both embarrassed and warmed by his concern, though no longer especially surprised by it. If there was one thing she'd learned over the course of their partnership so far, it was that underneath Boruto's mischievous, thrill-seeking surface lay a deep foundation of compassion and easily given affection. She still wasn't entirely sure what to do with that compassion and affection when they were aimed at her, though.

"I need a shower and some clothes; I haven't changed in almost thirty-six hours," she finally objected practically. "And I won't be alone. Chocho's meeting me at my place."

When she'd heard the news of the attack, Chocho had offered to come to the hospital. Sarada had told her not to bother, assuring her that she just wanted to spend time with her dad anyway, but her friend had insisted on at least coming over to be there for her when she went home.

"I own clothes too, you know," was Boruto's prompt rebuttal. "I can lend you some, and I have a shower you can use. And just tell Chocho to come to my place instead. The more the merrier! Besides, Mitsuki wants to see you too. He's been worried about you. He even wanted to bring one of his snakes to the hospital to give to you and your dad as an emotional support animal. I had to Google the hospital's policies about animals on the premises and show them to him to convince him he really shouldn't."

She was pretty sure he was just making up the part about Mitsuki to make her smile. _Pretty_ sure. (Either way, it worked.) But his arguments were undeniably persuasive. The more she thought about it, the more appealing it seemed to go feed off the warmth and positive energy Boruto always exuded, listen to his and Mitsuki's offbeat but endearing banter, be surrounded by people she cared about. At some point soon she would likely just want to collapse and sleep, but right now she was still too keyed up, and it would be reassuring to have some lively company around to keep her mind off all the horrible what-ifs.

"...Okay, I'll come," she finally conceded. "See you soon, then."

She was still smiling slightly as she ended the call and leaned forward to give the cab driver new directions, but she sobered suddenly as thoughts of what had happened in the days before her father's injury popped up for the first time in a while. Specifically, thoughts of what had happened between her and Boruto. She wondered if he'd forgotten all about it too in the aftermath of the attack, or if he'd been thinking about it the whole time and just hadn't wanted to bother her with it. It was probably for the best that she go see him now, she reflected.

There were things they needed to talk about.

* * *

A/N: What kinds of _things_ are they going to talk about, I wonder? Only the next chapter will tell ;) I'm happy to be somewhat back in my comfort zone with this lighter chapter. Some writers gravitate toward angst and grand drama, and I admire that kind of ambition, but my heart will always lie with humour, I think. Thank you so very much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry if I made anyone worry, but rest assured, I haven't abandoned this story! Once again, I have no excuse to give except that most rebellious business of all—life. I very much appreciate your patience and support during the wait, and apologies to anyone who didn't get a review reply from me. I always try to respond to everyone, but I may have missed a few during my period of inactivity here. I read and treasured them all, though!

Also, big shout-out to UmaOliveira, who is currently in the process of translating _Rebellious Business_ into Portuguese with my permission. As someone who's done a bit of minor translating for various work and school projects, I know how much time and effort even small translations require, so I'm very honoured and thankful! If you're interested in checking out the Portuguese version, you can find it on UmaOliveira's profile or under the story ID 12948504.

* * *

CHAPTER 11

When the cab dropped Sarada off at Boruto's and he opened the door to her, there was an expression of such naked relief on his face that she was slightly stunned. She knew he was worried about her, even after finding out that she hadn't been physically injured, but...was he really _that_ worried? Apparently so, and it kindled a small but bright spark inside her.

He stepped toward her and for a second she thought he might hug her again, but he just reached past her to close the door. She tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed. It was a good thing anyway considering that she'd been wearing these clothes for two days straight and hadn't showered in that time—she probably smelled. Suddenly self-conscious, she drew her purse up in front of her chest as if it could hide her tired, rumpled appearance.

Not seeming to notice anything off, Boruto just shot her his classic grin and led her into his familiar living room. "It's just me here right now," he explained. "Mitsuki's doing a late day at the lab today, but when I told him you were coming he said he'd try to get out as soon as he can."

"You can tell him to take his time," Sarada assured him. "I'd like to clean up a bit now anyway."

"Yeah, sure. The bathroom's all yours, and I found you a shirt and sweatpants to wear." He handed her a small pile of sloppily folded clothes. "Uh, they're mine," he added awkwardly, "but they're clean and everything."

Sarada just nodded with quiet thanks and shut herself in the bathroom for a long, hot shower. She emerged much cleaner and more relaxed, and in general feeling more like herself, which was a bit odd considering that she was now wearing someone else's clothing. It did feel a little strange, she supposed, to look in the mirror and see a much too long red T-shirt that looked like a tunic on her, along with very baggy black sweatpants she'd been forced to roll up several times. She thought they might even have been the same sweatpants Boruto had worn to the cafe that day when she'd first presented the dating plan to him.

She'd occasionally worn jackets or sweaters borrowed from male acquaintances in the past, but she'd never worn clothes from a man directly against so much skin before. It felt rather... _intimate_. Like something a real girlfriend would do with her real boyfriend's clothes.

The stray thought reminded her that she and Boruto still needed to discuss what exactly what was going on between them. Taking a few deep breaths, accepting that she could put it off no longer, she finger-combed her wet hair as best she could and exited the bathroom.

She found Boruto sprawled on the couch in the living room, scrolling through something on his phone. When he spotted her, he sat up quickly. "Hey, you're done? Do you want anything else? There's stuff in the fridge…"

He trailed off as he took in the sight of her in his clothes with her hair damp and tousled, his eyes roving up and down her body in much the same way they had at the Gala, although her appearances then and now could hardly have been more different. And just like she had been then, she was undeniably flattered—but she knew she couldn't indulge in the feeling, especially given what they were about to discuss.

"No thanks, I'm fine," she said briskly, keeping her tone businesslike. "But I do want to talk to you."

"Uh, is that not what you're doing right now?" Boruto grinned at the quip, but it was rather half-hearted; he had obviously detected her seriousness.

In answer, she simply walked over to the dining table and took a seat, then waited patiently for him to get up and take the chair across from her. She wanted to have this talk properly face-to-face, not awkwardly half-turned toward each other while sitting at opposite ends of a sofa.

He took the chair with some trepidation. "Why do I feel like I've been called to the principal's office for a lecture on my bad behaviour?"

Resisting the urge to respond to his playfulness, which had become almost an automatic reflex by now, she didn't offer him a sarcastic retort as she normally would have. Instead, she said without preamble, "I think we should call off the plan."

She'd expected a "What?" or maybe a "Why?", but not Boruto immediately blurting out, "Is this because of the kiss?"

She was so caught off guard that she replied without thinking, "What kiss?"

"Are you messing with me right now? Come on, you know what kiss!" Boruto exclaimed, looking downright offended. "We've only had one, and there's no way you forgot about it that fast!"

"Yes, I know what kiss you mean. Sorry, I was just surprised," she admitted, secretly a little amused that he was so riled up by the idea of her forgetting their kiss. "But no, this is not about that. I wouldn't abandon the plan just because of a kiss. I know we didn't agree to do it beforehand, but I think it clearly happened _because_ of the plan anyway, combined with alcohol and a high-pressure situation. We just got a bit too excited because things seemed to be going well that night, and went too far trying to show off our so-called relationship."

A charged silence fell over the two of them. Sarada forced herself to meet Boruto's eyes, blinking a little too often. Their gazes drilled into each other for a few interminable moments with the kind of tension that usually accompanied an argument, even though there had been no words of disagreement between them. Just when she was about to give in to the unbearable pressure and look away first, Boruto beat her to it, glancing down at the table as he muttered, "Right. Yeah, that makes sense." He spoke in a curiously expressionless, deadened tone. It was a little unsettling on someone who usually displayed his emotions so openly.

His easy surrender left Sarada feeling oddly bereft. Truth be told, she wasn't as confident about her explanation as she sounded. It was a plausible account of The Kiss...except for the fact that it didn't take into account the warmth between them that night, the spark that had seemed more than physical, all the emotional groundwork they'd laid together before reaching that one sudden, fleeting moment.

But the thing was—that night, The Kiss, this whole thing and whatever it had turned into, wasn't about _them._ It had never been about them. As recent events had so brutally reminded her, it was about her father. And when he'd put himself between her and that knife, he'd expressed his feelings for her more honestly than she could ever have expected. She owed it to him to be honest with him in return. Well, really she owed him more than that—her life, in fact—but it was a place to start. She needed to drop all these ridiculous roundabout schemes, as she probably should have from the start, and clear the air between them once and for all. Her unsettled feelings about Boruto and The Kiss were probably just more proof that this plan had gone on too long and too far.

Probably.

Boruto broke the awkward, heavy pause between them by asking, subdued, "So if it's not about...what I thought it was about, then what _is_ this about?"

"My father is in the hospital, and he's there because he risked his life for me," she said bluntly, speaking the words quickly so she wouldn't have to dwell on them for long. "When we started this, I wanted to make him squirm, and I really thought he deserved that, but it just doesn't feel right anymore. I think it would be best if I told him the truth."

Boruto was silent for a minute, obviously wary of this sensitive subject with her father's injury so fresh in both their minds. A number of indecipherable expressions flashed across his face, and for a moment she thought he was going to object, but then he shrugged and said, "Yeah. Okay. If that's what you think is best. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?" He gave her a kind of crooked half-smile that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes.

She nodded. "I won't bring it up with him until he's recovered a bit more, of course."

"But as of now, you're officially my fake ex-girlfriend?" Boruto made an effort at his usual playful humour.

She managed a small smile in return through a sharp twinge of something that felt remarkably like regret _._ "And friend," she added quietly.

He leaned forward, having missed the low comment. "What?"

"We're not just fake exes, we're friends," she clarified, raising her volume. "I think we've earned that title from each other."

He looked a little confused. "I thought we were friends already a while ago. Anyway, friendship isn't really the kind of thing you _earn._ It's not like you do a job for someone and they pay you back in friendship dollars or something. It's not a business transaction, it's just about liking someone and having fun with them."

"'Friendship dollars'?" she repeated, amused by his phrasing. When he just shrugged and grinned sheepishly, she pointed out, "Well, whenever it technically started, our friendship evolved out of what was essentially a business transaction."

He scoffed dismissively. "That's just coincidence—the way we happened to start spending time together. If we'd been brought together by something else, anything else, we would still have become friends."

" _Anything_ else?" she pressed, raising her eyebrows.

"Sure. I mean, as long as I was still me and you were still you."

She rested her chin on her fist and considered him for a while; his open face, his honest eyes, the memory of him sitting across from her at this very same table a little over a month ago, agreeing to go along with her crazy plan. "You know, I think I actually believe you," she concluded finally.

"Yeah, well, no need to sound so surprised about it," he retorted. Looking at that familiar mildly insulted expression, Sarada felt a rush of relief that at least remaining friends meant they could still share this kind of banter.

Quiet shuffling from the hallway abruptly alerted them to the arrival of Mitsuki. A moment later, he walked into the room, backpack still slung over his shoulder. He smiled upon seeing Sarada.

"Sarada, it's good to see you," he said. "I was relieved to hear your father is out of danger. How are you doing?"

She smiled back, remembering Boruto's tale, true or not, about Mitsuki's thwarted attempt to bring a snake to the hospital. "Well, I can't say I've never been better, but all things considered, I'm all right."

Mitsuki nodded. "Please make yourself at home. If you need something, Boruto and I are here to serve."

On another day she would have been tempted to make a crack about them being her servants or something, but today it felt most natural and appropriate to just say "Thank you" and mean it wholeheartedly.

"I know what else is here to serve: the TV," Boruto put in. "What do you guys say to watching some mindless television in which no one has real problems?"

Anything mindless sounded decent enough to Sarada right now, so they moved to the couch and Boruto grabbed the remote. Mitsuki disappeared into his room for a moment, reemerging with a small, thin snake coiled around his bare forearm. Taking a seat next to Sarada, he offered the arm to her wordlessly. After eyeing him warily for a moment, and thinking that maybe Boruto hadn't made up that snake/hospital story about him after all, she hesitantly held her hand out. As if responding to Mitsuki's unspoken will, the little snake slithered down his hand and onto hers, slowly winding itself through the spaces between her fingers, its tiny tongue briefly darting out to taste the air.

Surprisingly, it _was_ kind of soothing. This snake's diminutive size made it seem less threatening than some of Mitsuki's others, and its slow movement across her palm and knuckles felt strangely like a caress. Sarada had never owned pets, but she suddenly saw the appeal. It was nice to have something living and moving near you, to hold it in your hands and feel that life trustingly touch yours. She watched the little reptile with faint wonder.

As she let the snake settle on her hand and wrist, it wasn't long before the doorbell rang and Mitsuki got up to answer it. He returned shortly with Chocho in tow, helping her carry in a couple of near-bursting grocery bags.

"So, I don't know how well-stocked Boruto's place is," Chocho was saying, "but I brought a bunch of snacks—comfort food, you know. And I...is that a _live snake?!_ "

"Yes. It would be a bit disturbing if I kept dead snakes, wouldn't it?" Mitsuki said affably.

Chocho took a second to shoot him a weirded-out sideways glance before hurrying over to Sarada and pulling her into a tight hug, snake and all. "Hey! Is your dad okay? Are _you_ okay?"

"We both will be," Sarada assured her, returning the embrace. "Thanks for checking up on me. Care to join us for some bad TV?"

Her friend nodded and plopped down on the couch next to her emphatically. "Bad TV is really the best kind of TV, and anyone who says otherwise is either a snob or in serious denial. Actually, probably both."

"Is that supposed to be aimed at me?" Sarada asked dryly. She'd expressed her dislike of most reality shows, soap operas, and cheesy sitcoms several times in the past.

"It's constructive criticism." Chocho softened the blow of her words by slinging a companionable arm around Sarada's shoulders and tossing a bag of chips into her lap. " _Loving_ constructive criticism." She suddenly leaned down to peer more closely at the snake wrapped around Sarada's wrist. "You know, this little guy is kind of cute. What does it feel like to have it slither on you like that? When you're done with it, can I have a turn?"

"I can bring out another one," Mitsuki offered, looking pleased at her interest. "There are several currently in my bedroom."

Relaxing back into the sofa cushions, with Boruto's warmth on her right and Chocho's on her left, the TV blaring in the background as Mitsuki and Chocho spoke over it, and Boruto's loose clothes enveloping her comfortably, Sarada felt more at home and at peace than she'd thought was possible so soon after the horror of last night. She shifted in place, and as she moved her arm, her fingers brushed Boruto's where they rested on the couch next to his leg. For an instant the sudden temptation to take his hand was so strong she nearly did just that, the way he had taken hers at the hospital. It had been such a confident, comfortable, natural grip.

But as quickly as the thought came to her, he withdrew his hand, setting it safely in his lap. Which made sense; there was no call for hand-holding now that they were no longer either in crisis or fake dating. And not getting to hold Boruto's hand was a small price to pay for finally bridging the distance between her and her father, she told herself.

Still, she had a feeling she was going to miss this rebellious time in her life, and the one-of-a-kind partnership that had made it possible.

* * *

Several hours of truly terrible TV later, it looked as if it had become an unspoken fact that Sarada was staying the night. She had persuaded Chocho to go home to bed a couple of hours ago, knowing that her friend had work in the morning, but had been reluctant to go to sleep herself. She was tired, completely exhausted even, but the thought of lying down in the dark and silence, left with nothing to occupy her but her freshly bloodstained memory, kept her from surrendering to the fatigue.

She knew that the guys would sit up with her for as long as she wanted, but although they were putting up a valiant fight to stay awake, Boruto was yawning regularly and Mitsuki was blinking slowly, his normally sharp golden eyes hazy. They'd done enough for her, and she was going to have to face sleep at some point anyway.

Resolutely, she picked up the remote and turned off the television. The sudden snap of silence jolted Boruto and Mitsuki into alertness, and they both straightened and looked to her.

"Time for bed," she announced briskly. "May I borrow your couch for the night?"

"We can't let a lady sleep on the couch," Mitsuki objected. "Please, take my bed."

"Your bed?" Boruto broke in, staring at his roommate. "Why would she take _your_ bed? _I'm_ the fake boyfriend. Plus, your bedroom is a literally a den of serpents—what lady would want to sleep in that? If she needs a bed, she can have mine."

He seemed to have forgotten the "ex" part of "fake boyfriend," but Sarada tactfully let it go for now. "Save it, it's way too late for a dumb argument," she interrupted them, not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed that they were apparently willing to fight over who got to give her their bed. "As a matter of fact, I don't need or want anyone's bed. The couch will do just fine. Anyway, when you two spent the night at my place, I made you take the couch and the floor, so it's only fair."

"Yes, but that was when we rudely barged in uninvited and inebriated," Mitsuki pointed out, not sounding the least bit ashamed of it.

"True," she conceded, "but really, I don't mind the couch."

"Didn't you say it's too late for a dumb argument? Just take the bed," Boruto put in. " _My_ bed," he added quickly, with a glance at Mitsuki that dared him to say otherwise.

Mitsuki gave in with a resigned tilt of the head, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine."

A few minutes later, Boruto was setting her up in his bedroom, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about having her in his most intimate space. He didn't think his room was a total disaster zone or anything, at least not by the standards of most guys he knew, but Sarada's standards were probably in a whole other league.

"It might be a little messy…" he began.

"It's not as bad as I expected," she noted, looking around with a critical air.

"Um, thanks?" But he grinned a little to himself. A comment like that was classic Sarada—a sign that she was really going to be okay.

She took a seat gingerly on the edge of his bed, and he suddenly found himself having a hard time looking directly at her without blushing. First she'd been in his clothes, now she was on his bed. Not to mention that just a few days ago they'd kissed...but she'd made it clear that that didn't change anything. _Snap out of it_ , he told himself.

He cleared his throat. "So, if you need anything, I'll be out there sleeping. I mean, I'll be awake if you need me. Well, I'll probably be asleep, but I'll wake up for you. I mean, if you wake me up. Just call out or come shake me or something—"

"I get it," she interrupted him, much to his own relief. "Good night, Boruto." She crossed her legs neatly and gave him a small smile as she spoke his name, her dark eyes glinting warmly up at him from behind her glasses.

"'Night!" he replied, hastily turning away before she could see his blush intensifying. He stepped out of the room and clumsily yanked the door shut with an alarming bang. "Sorry!" he shouted back from outside. "I didn't mean to slam it!"

Embarrassed, he didn't wait for a response before heading back out to the couch, where he flung himself down and stretched out on the cushions. Not long ago he'd been falling asleep where he sat, but all of a sudden he was wide awake again, mind bombarded with images of Sarada in his bed disturbingly mingled with memories of how she'd looked in the hospital, so pale and shaken and far from her usual put-together self. Every time he thought of the moment he'd heard about the attack on the news, his adrenaline spiked all over again. He'd never before thought of himself as someone who was easily frightened, but maybe that was just because he'd never before faced a situation that was really worth being frightened over. If Sarada wanted to be just friends...well, it wasn't nothing, and it was what she wanted, so he could deal with it. But losing her completely—that was a fear he didn't think he could face.

Somehow, in a very short time, she'd become a big part of his life. Even if it hadn't been fake (and he had to keep sharply reminding himself it had been), their dating stint would hardly have been his longest relationship, but it had become so routine so quickly. He knew her well and cared about her by now, and he was pretty sure she knew him well and cared about him too. And ending things like this felt wrong, as wrong as it had felt to end things with Sumire and his previous girlfriends. More so, in fact.

He kicked the armrest in frustration. If it had all been fake, then why did it have to _feel_ so real?

He wasn't sure how long he'd been tossing and turning and wrestling with his thoughts—it kind of felt like a million years—when a plaintive noise made him go still. Concerned, he strained his ears in the direction of his room, then rose swiftly and crossed to the bedroom door, pressing his cheek against it to confirm that the sounds of breathless whimpering were indeed coming from there.

"Sarada," he called softly, knocking on the door. When there was no response, he called and knocked again a little louder. Still no answer, but the whimpering became more frantic. He winced—he couldn't take this anymore—and hesitantly turned the knob, opening the door a crack to peer inside. It was an invasion of privacy, he knew, but he couldn't stand there listening to her suffer, and if he pounded any louder he'd probably wake up Mitsuki too, which he suspected would only embarrass her.

As he'd guessed, she was clearly caught in the throes of a bad nightmare, her body hopelessly entangled in the sheets as she writhed and panted. Boruto thought he heard her let out a quiet cry of "Dad," and the wave of horror and compassion that washed through him was so strong he felt a little breathless himself.

"Sarada!" he called again, more sharply now that he was inside the room with her. "Wake up!"

At that, she jerked suddenly upright, going silent but still shaking all over and clutching the blankets to her. Unable to stop himself, Boruto crossed to her side in three quick strides, kneeling next to the bed and reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Sarada, are you—"

He broke off when she jerked around and grabbed his wrist just before he made contact. Her hair, usually so neatly coiffed, was dishevelled and spilling over her face, strands blending in with the shadows streaking her skin in the dark room. And despite the lack of lighting, her eyes stood out to him in striking clarity—wide, wet, and terrified, for once unobstructed by her glasses. He'd thought he'd seen Sarada in a vulnerable state when she'd broken down in the hospital, but this was a whole new level of rawness.

The sight struck him speechless for a few seconds, but he finally swallowed hard and collected himself enough to make an attempt at their normal banter. He glanced at his trapped wrist. "Hey, Sarada? I swear I believe you about those self-defense skills you said you have—no need to throw me across the room to prove it."

He wasn't entirely joking—although his whole arm was shaking from the force of the trembling of her hand, the grip she had on his wrist was still _strong_ , like she meant business. A reminder that even vulnerable like this, Sarada wasn't helpless or weak.

"Boruto?" she murmured, voice shaky. She let go of his wrist, but instead of pulling her hand away, she slid it all the way up his arm to rest lightly on his shoulder, as if trying to make sure that it was really him. He grimaced, feeling guilty at the thought that she might have mistaken him for an attacker. He should have turned on the lights; in this darkness and without her glasses, he probably just seemed like a vague male shape looming over her. That was enough to scare anyone who'd just experienced a traumatic assault.

"Yeah, that's me," he said as reassuringly as he could. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You just had a nightmare. You're okay." Trying to give her a better view of him, he leaned in and slowly reached out to brush some of the hair out of her face, his thumb gently swiping through fresh tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Boruto," she repeated, voice a tiny bit steadier this time, and then suddenly she leaned over and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, pulling him into her and tucking her face into his shoulder.

Startled, but glad to give comfort if he could, he put his arms around her still-shaking body in return, carefully running one hand through the tangled hair on the back of her head. "You're okay," he muttered, smelling his own shampoo as he breathed in the scent of her hair. "You're okay now."

He wasn't sure how long he held her that way—it must have been a while, because his knees started to ache from pressing into the hardwood floor—but he didn't want to let her go until he felt her trembling subside and she made the first move to disengage herself, raising her head and gently pushing him away.

That left them just sitting there, him crouched on the floor, her cross-legged on the covers, staring at each other. It was undeniably a little awkward, but not nearly as awkward as it could have been, considering all that had recently happened between them. Boruto thought his voice even sounded pretty normal when he asked, "Are you okay now?"

He had the privilege of witnessing Sarada pull herself together right before his eyes: she took a breath, straightened her shoulders, briskly wiped under her eyes, and patted down her messy hair. He felt an urge to reach out and help her with that last task—her hair had felt so soft under his fingers just moments earlier—but restrained himself.

"Better," she said, quiet but much steadier now. "Thanks." She offered him a smile, a little wan and weak, but it did travel up to her eyes. Those intense eyes—he'd meant it when he'd said he liked her glasses, but without them, her eyes were positively mesmerizing, somehow bigger and brighter than usual.

Glancing quickly away, he cleared his throat and ventured to ask, "So, I guess I should just...go now. I mean, uh, do you want me to go now?"

When she didn't immediately respond, he dared to glance back at her again, braced himself, and said tentatively, "Or...do you want me to stay?"

She continued to watch him for another few moments, face unreadable. Just when he was beginning to think that her silence was a hint that he should get up and leave, she nodded, a quick but definitive jerk of the head. "Stay," she whispered. "Please."

Reaching for the hand he'd set on the edge of the bed, she rested her fingers on top of his knuckles, so lightly he could have shaken off her grip with a tiny flick of the wrist. But instead he turned his hand carefully over so he could entwine his fingers with hers. "Sure," he whispered back.

Sitting up next to a bed was hardly an ideal position to sleep in, but with her hand in his, every now and then a quiver travelling through her that he rapidly quelled with a light squeeze, he finally felt relaxed enough to close his eyes.

* * *

A/N: Even though this chapter contained the dreaded "just friends" conversation, I tried not to leave Sarada and Boruto in too unpromising a situation with that last scene. It felt wrong to me to have them progress too quickly so soon after Sarada's recent trauma, when she would want to prioritize her father over everything else; hence the end of a rebellious era. But how long will this resolution to stay friends last, I wonder? (Hint: not long.)

Thanks again for sticking with me! Pretty much every time I received a review it motivated me to get back into this story and write more, even if it was just a paragraph or two, so believe me when I say that your words mean a lot!


	12. Chapter 12

**WARNING: Discussions of violence and suicide ahead.** This chapter features some unpacking of the attack on Sarada/Sasuke and the motives behind it, so it ventures into dark territory. If you'd rather not get into that, feel free to PM me and I can send you a summary of what happens instead.

Also, the usual warning about my lack of knowledge: I'm pretty sure what I describe below is decidedly not the way a police investigation of this nature would really be handled, or what a police case file really consists of. As always, I'll have to call on your generous suspension of disbelief. That's what (fan)fiction is for, right?

Much love to you all for your patience with my slow updates. Thank you kindly for all your support!

* * *

CHAPTER 12

Sarada woke up gradually, content to stay curled up safe and warm as consciousness filtered back in. When she finally gathered the will to open her eyes, she found her field of vision filled with a burst of sunny yellow that made her blink in surprise. As all her senses returned, she identified the yellow as Boruto's unmistakable hair, its spikes grazing her pillow as he slept, slumped over next to the bed with his head and arms resting on the sheets next to her.

Her gaze lowered to find his right hand gently clasped around hers even in slumber. That brought the memories of last night rushing back: waking up alone and afraid, and Boruto next to her reassuring her that she was okay, then offering to stay with her. Feeling like she wanted him, _needed_ him there so badly that she couldn't have turned him down if her life depended on it. She grimaced a little in embarrassment. Even though she knew it had been a normal reaction to what she'd just been through, and she was sure Boruto wouldn't hold it against her, in the soothing daylight it seemed a bit silly and childish now, putting him through that because a nightmare had scared her.

But those feelings didn't outweigh the relief and appreciation she felt for the fact that he'd been there, ready to chase away her demons.

Very slowly and carefully, she slid her hand from his lax grip and sat up, pausing for a moment just to watch him, the way his hunched-over shoulders rose and fell to the steady rhythm of his breathing. That couldn't be a very comfortable position to sleep in, but he'd endured it all night for her.

On a fond impulse, she leaned down and softly kissed the part of his forehead that was accessible from this angle, right near his hairline, her lips momentarily tickled by a few silky blond strands. She then drew back promptly, watching him for signs of wakefulness, but he continued to sleep soundly. This whole ordeal had affected him too; he must have been almost as exhausted as she was.

Deciding not to disturb him, she climbed lithely off the bed, stopping to scoop her glasses off his desk before silently exiting the room, shutting the door behind her. After a quick stop in the bathroom to wash up, she ventured into the kitchen, where she found Mitsuki already up and about, pouring some batter into a pan on the stove and sporting a rather adorable bedhead.

"Good morning, Sarada," he said pleasantly. "Would you like some pancakes?"

He must have noticed that Boruto wasn't on the couch, but if he had any questions about where his roommate had spent the night instead, he kept them to himself. She tried to express her appreciation for his discretion with a smile. "Thanks, that sounds great."

Sarada did want to go change into her own clothes and check on her father in the hospital again as soon as possible, and the small part of her that was a complete coward wanted to escape the apartment before Boruto woke up, but she was honestly starving and the pancakes smelled wonderful.

They turned out to taste even better. When she complimented him, Mitsuki accepted the praise with a nod and the comment that "Boruto says those are my two specialties: snakes and pancakes."

"And I suppose he finds it endlessly amusing that the two words even rhyme?" she replied, more affectionately than condescendingly.

"You know him well," Mitsuki observed, drizzling maple syrup on his own pancakes.

Sarada smiled slightly, but the innocent words sent a pang through her chest. No longer being Boruto's pretend girlfriend didn't mean that she could no longer know him well, but she would no longer know him in quite the same unique way.

"We broke up," she blurted out, so suddenly she startled even herself.

Mitsuki paused for a moment with his fork halfway to his mouth, then resumed eating as normal. "I wasn't aware you had started truly dating."

"We didn't," she hastened to assure him. "I meant, we fake-broke up. Of course it's fake; it's always been fake. We fake-dated and now we've fake-broken up."

"That was a lot of 'fakes,'" he noted placidly.

Something about his too-casual tone made her look up at him suspiciously. Somehow, it felt like he was subtly accusing her of something. "What are you trying to say?"

"What are _you_ trying to say?" He turned the question back on her, still as calm as ever, his golden gaze fixed on her intently.

"I'm trying to say just what I said," she retorted bluntly, resisting the urge to squirm. There was no reason to squirm; this was just a breakfast conversation, not an interrogation. "I'm just giving you the news."

"I see." Mitsuki looked down at his fork and licked some syrup off it. His pink tongue darting out like that reminded her briefly but strongly of the snake from last night. "Thank you for the report."

She just stared across the table at him for a few moments, feeling unsettled but unable to pinpoint quite why. "I think I'm finally beginning to see why Boruto finds you so frustrating at times."

An instant later she felt ashamed of the unkind statement; Mitsuki had been nothing but a good friend to her through everything, and he'd even made her pancakes this morning. "Sorry, that was uncalled for," she quickly apologized. "I'm a bit on edge after everything that's happened recently."

But Mitsuki just smiled at her, graciously amused. "No, I believe you're right, I _am_ frustrating at times. And I'm sorry too—this was the wrong time to poke at sensitive areas. For what it's worth, it's been a privilege to watch your and Boruto's partnership develop, and I have faith in it. Whatever decision you two made, I'm sure it will work itself out."

Sarada found that it was worth quite a lot, actually. Mitsuki had played his own not insignificant role in her and Boruto's relationship, and she trusted his judgment and felt reassured to have his continued support. His talents definitely went well beyond just snakes and pancakes.

"Thank you, Mitsuki," she said sincerely, but she couldn't dig back into her breakfast with quite the same gusto as before. He might have faith in her recent decision-making, and she appreciated that, but she wasn't sure she shared it.

* * *

Sasuke's first stop when he was released from the hospital, against Sakura's vigorous protests, was the police station. She had tried to insist that she at least accompany him there, but even that he had refused; not out of pride or protective instincts, although both of those ran deep in him, but more out of a kind of personal shame. He had a definite dark side, one that Sakura was all too aware of by now, but he still preferred to limit her exposure to it, and nothing was more likely to bring it raging to the surface than a threat to his family. Even though he knew that Sakura had accepted that vile, vengeful part of him long ago, he still hated the way it made her look at him—not with anger or fear but with sadness, and above all with a forgiveness that made him feel lower and dirtier than the ground beneath her feet.

Part of the reason he'd always kept a certain distance between him and Sarada was his worry that his darkness might somehow rub off on her. In a twisted way he _was_ proud of his well-deserved reputation as someone who would take pleasure in destroying you if you crossed him, but sometimes it also sickened him, and it wasn't the image he wanted to pass on to his daughter, his greatest legacy.

He did, however, want to ensure that that legacy was protected, which was the main reason he was here today. If he wanted to make sure that Sarada was never put at risk like this again, he had to understand how it had happened.

As he walked into the police station, hating the stiff, slow way he was forced to move to accommodate his injury—telegraphing his weakness all over the place—a familiar broad-shouldered man straightened from where he was leaning over a desk peering at something on a colleague's computer screen.

"Hey, Sasuke. How's it going?" Officer Kiba Inuzuka lifted his hand in a lazy wave. The assault on the Uchihas had been an open-and-shut case with multiple witnesses and was technically closed, but as a former classmate of Sasuke's, Kiba had agreed to this special follow-up meeting as a personal favour. Sasuke knew from the policemen who'd visited him earlier in the hospital that the attacker had been a disgruntled former employee who'd been fired from the Uchiha Corporation several months ago, but he was determined to get the details.

"Fine," Sasuke bit out shortly, not interested in exchanging meaningless pleasantries.

"Yeah, stupid question, seeing as you just got stabbed," Kiba observed with a rough chuckle. He'd never exactly been known for his sensitivity; Sasuke guessed that he usually wasn't the one tasked with speaking to recent victims. But the painfully direct truth was precisely what the Uchiha wanted right now, so he wasn't complaining.

"What can you tell me?" He cut through the formalities as Kiba guided him into an empty office.

The officer rummaged through a filing cabinet in the corner, coming up with a folder that he slid across the desk. "It's all in there."

Sasuke flicked open the folder and was immediately assaulted with unpleasant memories as he came face-to-face with a mugshot of the man he remembered lunging at him with a knife. For a moment he almost slammed the folder shut again, but he fiercely held onto his self-control and stared down at the face until he could think straight again.

"Toshio Kimura," Kiba announced, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. Sasuke was familiar with the name; the police had already given him that much. "Late forties. For about three years he was an employee of yours, a data entry clerk. Not a very good employee, by all accounts; he missed a lot of days, had some angry outbursts at colleagues, generally gave a sub-par performance, and got worse over time. Anyway, last winter he finally missed one day too many and his supervisor got your approval to fire him. He was pissed about it; he actually tried to get in to see you personally a couple of times to complain, but security always tossed him out first."

Sasuke listened intently as he scanned the personal information on the page before him, but honestly, he remembered none of this. The Uchiha Corporation was large and attracted a lot of attention, some of it negative, and a lot of people disliked both the company and him personally. Someone storming in with a complaint and having to be thrown out wasn't a daily occurrence, but it wasn't that uncommon either, and Sasuke had gotten used to taking little notice of it.

"I have plenty of disgruntled former employees," he stated bluntly. "I want to know why this one tried to kill me."

Kiba hesitated, then said more slowly, "Well, actually, it's pretty clear that he didn't set out to kill _you._ "

Sasuke's head snapped up, and he couldn't keep his spine from stiffening even though it tugged painfully at his still-healing wound. "Sarada."

Of course. As he was the only one who'd been injured, he'd been somewhat able to gloss over the heart-stopping memory of Kimura going for his daughter first. He still couldn't remember what exactly the man had said to them to justify it, but Sarada had definitely been the initial target.

"Yeah. So, turns out Kimura was a father too. He had a daughter, a little younger than yours, still in high school. She was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer a little before he started working for you, and the job and the insurance it came with was a big help with paying the medical bills. When he lost the job, he lost all that, and without good references he had trouble finding a new one. He couldn't afford the same level of care for her as before, and about a month ago—"

"She died," Sasuke said flatly, his eyes skipping ahead to the dates listed under Kimura's family members' names.

"If it makes you feel better," Kiba said gruffly, "even though Kimura was in denial about it, we talked to some other relatives and they told us her time was pretty much up no matter what. Maybe with cutting-edge treatment they could've prolonged her life for a couple more months, but there wasn't going to be a cure beyond that."

Sasuke said nothing. In recent years, it had become common for him to go a couple of months without even hearing Sarada's voice. A couple of months suddenly seemed considerably longer than he'd thought.

Shifting in his chair, Kiba continued. "Anyway, on top of that, his wife passed away in a single-vehicle crash just a week or so after that. Officially ruled an accident in the end, but there was some speculation that she might have crashed on purpose. No way of knowing for sure, but Kimura blamed you for that too during his interrogation."

A heavy silence hung over the room, until Kiba exhaled gustily and stood. "Well, that's all I've got for you. I've gotta get back to work. You can spend a little more time with the file if you want, just make sure you find me and give it back before you leave the station. See you around, Sasuke. Hope you heal up fast."

The sound of him opening the door jolted Sasuke out of his grim reflections, and he began sharply, "Wait, Kiba. I want to—"

"See the guy?" Kiba interrupted, correctly predicting his request. "What do you think I am, high or something? No way. Showing you the case file I can get away with; letting you in to murder the suspect, not so much. Sit here until you calm down, get that psycho look out of your eyes, then go home to your wife and kid and put this behind you. That's all you need to do, Sasuke. And maybe right now that seems harder than murdering Kimura, but well, you're just going to have to suck it up."

Before Sasuke could argue his case further, the officer stepped promptly out of the room and shut the door. Thwarted, Sasuke scowled down at the file, though honestly he hadn't really expected Kiba to grant him access to Kimura. He did resent the comment about his "psycho" look and the implication that he would just instantly murder the man, though.

Murder. That was what Toshio Kimura had been willing to do in the name of vengeance for his family. Sasuke imagined he himself probably was capable of the same thing, given the right provocation. And Sarada definitely qualified as a top candidate for the right provocation.

It was disgusting to think of harming an innocent young woman for any reason, and the fact that the young woman in this case had been Sarada filled Sasuke with a bone-deep loathing for Kimura that he would no doubt harbour all his days. But, although he hated to admit it, there was a sliver of comprehension in him too. If Sarada and Sakura were ever torn from him like that, he'd be an entirely different man, and that man probably wouldn't be sane. He'd want someone to blame, and if he found someone who fit the bill, he'd be willing to pay a high price to see them suffer horribly.

He flipped slowly through the folder before him, pausing again on the dates. _1972-2018,_ for Kimura's wife. _2002-2018,_ for his daughter. A few pages later, _Sarada Uchiha_ in the same businesslike black print _,_ and just below, _1997-_ . He ran a finger gently over the few millimetres of empty whiteness that came after the hyphen. A blank space had never held so much meaning before.

Sarada still had so much blank space stretching ahead of her. Suddenly, how exactly she chose to fill that space didn't seem that important anymore, just as long as she had it.

* * *

Naruto knew something was seriously up when Boruto got into his car without so much as a disparaging remark about how blindingly orange it was. He didn't exactly enjoy fighting with his son, but there was something reassuringly routine about it by this point. There was nothing routine about him showing up to drive Boruto home after work and Boruto accepting the ride just like that.

To tell the truth, Boruto hadn't been himself since the attack on the Uchihas. At first Naruto had attributed it to the shock of coming close to losing someone he cared about, but it had been long enough now since the incident that he was beginning to suspect there was more going on. And since one of the few ways he could get his son to actually sit down and talk with him these days was by trapping him in a moving vehicle, here they were.

"So," the elder Uzumaki ventured, "I took the night off, and I was thinking we could go grab dinner at Ichiraku's. What do you say?"

He steeled himself, bracing for an outright "no," but Boruto just said snidely, "How about somewhere that's _not_ Ichiraku's for once?"

Not a flat refusal, at least—Naruto could work with that. "Are you just saying that because you went to Ichiraku's with Sarada? I'm speaking from experience when I say that you can't let memories of an Uchiha taint your love for amazing ramen," he said solemnly. "It's not worth it."

"Hey, I didn't say anything about her," Boruto snapped a little too defensively, adding with disgust, "And don't compare what's between me and Sarada to whatever twisted relationship you have with her dad. No matter what happens, we'll never be as messed up as you guys are."

Naruto had to admit, the comparison was a little disturbing now that he thought about it. "Well, anyway, what _is_ between you and Sarada these days?"

Boruto shook his head and turned away to stare out the window. "We're not doing this right now."

"Doing what?" Naruto asked innocently.

"Dad, even if I wanted advice on women, which I don't, you wouldn't be the person I'd ask."

"Why not?" Naruto was genuinely a bit hurt. "I've been married for over twenty years. I'd say I've been about as successful with women as anyone could hope to be. Or with _a_ woman, at least, and only one matters when it's the right one."

His son shot him a skeptical sideways glance, but seemed to be considering the point. "Okay, fine. If you're such an expert, then how would you say a person is supposed to know when they've found the right one?"

Naruto was suddenly reminded of why he usually let Hinata field the delicate relationship questions. "Uh...well...it depends."

Boruto gave him a look of blistering scorn. "Right. Great talk, Dad."

"Wait, wait, wait. C'mon, let me finish. I mean, I'm sure it depends on the person. But if you ask me, it's when you look at your life, what matters to you, all your priorities, and you realize that she comes first. Money, all the things you're scared of, what other people think...you can set it all aside if you have to, for her. Because what she wants and needs becomes what you want and need, too."

The younger Uzumaki was silent for a few moments, then asked accusingly, "If that's really what you believe, then why does it seem like you've been putting your _job_ first for practically as long as I can remember?"

His son was nothing if not like him—emotionally blunt and confrontational. Naruto flinched internally but tried to answer the question as fully as he could.

"You know, when your mom and I decided we wanted to start a family, we talked about how we were going to handle it, with our careers and all that—we talked about it a lot. And part of what she told me she wanted was for me to keep growing the company, to have the success that I'd worked for, even if that meant she had to make some sacrifices—because that's the kind of amazing, loving person she is. So give your mom some credit. Just because she's a quiet and thoughtful person doesn't mean she can't make her voice heard when she wants to. She wouldn't let the decisions in our relationship be as one-sided as you might think they are. But," he added with a sigh, "I'm not trying to make excuses here, or claim that I haven't made mistakes. Sometimes the best things in your life are the easiest things to start taking for granted. And sometimes, if you're really lucky, the people you love forgive you for doing that to them, and let you make it up to them."

He took a deep breath, glad to have that off his chest even if it was followed by a tense silence. Finally Boruto broke it with, "So is that what you're trying to do now with these attempts at father-son heart-to-hearts? Make it up to me?"

Naruto's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Are you going to let me?" He was usually quite skilled at covering up uncertainty with an air of brash confidence, but the question came out sounding every bit as hesitant as it felt.

At least he had his son's complete, undisguised attention now. No longer gazing disinterestedly out the window, Boruto was fully turned toward him, big blue eyes searching his face for proof of sincerity. "I'll think about it," he said quietly.

Naruto felt the the balloon of tension inside his chest slowly and satisfyingly deflate. "I'll think about it" was more progress than he'd made with Boruto in years.

"So," he began, daring to push just a little further, "does that mean you'll tell me a bit about what's up with you and Sarada?"

Boruto's expression went from somewhat sullen and suspicious to downright depressed. The sight made Naruto's heart clench and his temper rear up protectively, but he resisted the urge to jump right into the "don't let some high-and-mighty Uchiha get you down" speech that hovered on the tip of his tongue.

"Maybe I would, if I even _knew_ what was up with me and Sarada right now," Boruto muttered.

"Well, here's what I know," Naruto said boldly. "I know how you guys looked together at the Gala. I know how you looked at her in the hospital. I know you haven't been the same since she almost got hurt. You've been moping around, mourning _something_ even though nobody died, denying that it's anything to do with her like you might be able to make yourself believe it. I know you won't be able to, because that's not who you are. I don't know if you guys broke up, but I've seen you after other breakups, and you've always bounced back fast. This time, you're not bouncing back. I know it's bad, because you don't even have the will to argue with _me_ properly."

Naruto waited for a scoff or an angry denial, but when Boruto remained silent with eyes downcast, he knew he was right about everything. And he knew he was going to have to do what he'd dreaded doing. He was going to have to give Boruto a push in a direction he'd hoped his son would never take.

"Look, Boruto...I know I haven't been the perfect dad, but I can promise you that I'm not going to be one of those parents who stand in the way of their kid's happiness out of some sense of pride or whatever. If Sarada makes you happy and she's who you really want, then...then I think she's who you should get. Or at least who you should go after. You can't make her choose you, but you can offer her everything you are, and prove to her that you mean it."

To his surprise, the words weren't as difficult to say as he'd expected. They smarted a bit, to be sure, but also brought with them that familiar rush of lightness he felt whenever he finally gave in to the right choice after a violent internal struggle.

"Whoa. Wait." Boruto was gaping at him, incredulous. "Did you seriously just say you're giving me your... _blessing_ to date Sarada? But she's—she's _Sasuke_ _Uchiha_ 's daughter _._ "

"Don't remind me," Naruto grumbled under his breath. But he'd already come this far, so he cleared his throat and went on with brisk resignation, "Well, that sucks, it really does, but it's not her fault. I guess I can't say I know that much about Sarada herself, other than the fact that she's a good student and she can take down a man who comes at her with a knife. Those aren't bad qualities to start with, even if she _is_ an Uchiha. Besides—how I feel about her isn't the most important thing here."

"And what is?"

"How _you_ feel about her," Naruto stated matter-of-factly. "Even if you don't tell me how exactly that is, well, you don't have to, because it's honestly pretty obvious."

Boruto opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words. Brow furrowed in deep thought, he shifted restlessly in his seat before leaning back to stare aimlessly through the windshield. Then he suddenly sat forward, frowning.

"Dad?"

"Yup?" Naruto tried to mentally prepare himself for another deep, soul-searching question.

"We definitely passed this street before. Have you been driving in circles or something?"

Indeed he had been, operating the car on autopilot with most of his concentration on their conversation. "Uh, maybe," Naruto said sheepishly. "You turned down Ichiraku's and we never decided on another place to go, so…"

Boruto snorted. "Every time I start to think for one second that you might be kind of cool, you just have to turn around and ruin it right away, don't you?"

Naruto did his best to put on a mock scowl, but it was soon eclipsed by a classic Uzumaki grin. He'd trade centuries of hero worship from thousands of admirers for a single second of being "kind of cool" in his son's eyes any day.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't reward you after such a long wait with more Boruto/Sarada interaction, but there was a bit of other business to take care of first. Just one more much-needed father-daughter talk to go, and then it's back to the main event! I'm looking forward to it too, believe me :)

I say this every time because it deserves to be said every time: thank you all so much for reading and especially for reviewing! Your support truly inspires me.


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